Paint It Black

"Sunny, get up," a familiar, male voice called, "it's 10."

I groaned, rolling over in my comfortable position, "No."

A soft chuckle made me crack an eye open, "You have an appointment, and we have to go shopping."

I dug my face into my warm, cotton pillow, "5 more minutes."

"You appointment is at 11, and you take forever to get ready."

I turned back, squinting open my eyes and looking him, "Butcher, I'm getting up, just make me some goddamn coffee," I laid my head back into the pillow and closed my eyes.

"Ok, ok," he sucked his teeth and left my bedroom.

I yawned, rubbing my tired head, and forced myself up. I rubbed my eyes, sitting up on my knees and coursed my hair. I had, had another dreamless night, number 231. I hate not being able to dream, it was a simple pleasure of being unconscious, but now, it seemed useless to sleep.

I rolled out of bed, letting my bare feet sink into my cool, white carpet. I stepped towards my full length mirror, seeing the cute, little note Tyler, my ex, wrote for me; "You are beautiful Sunshine, I love you. Xoxo Ty'. I looked down from the message and at myself.

My hair was messy, the color was the deep purple I colored a few weeks back, my eyes were tired, with heavy bags, and my inked body looked frail and sickly in the small tank top and boy shorts. I rubbed my thin bicep, looking over the Frankenstein's monster moral I had gotten, and smiled.

"Mornin' monster," I dropped my hand, "is it weird that I talk to a tattoo than to myself?" I asked a loud, to no one.

I didn't wait for an answer, and walked away from the mirror and to my bathroom.

As I waited for the shower to heat up, I ran my fingers over my nude figure. I had a few scars on my stomach, some I wanted covered up, and had succeeded, somewhat. I had gotten a pirate ship up the left side of my rib cage, with Washed Away in a nice script underneath it. This tattoo took 3 sessions, all done by Butcher, and was somewhat therapeutic; but, even so, I was now seeing a therapist. I hate seeing her.

I coursed my hair again, stepping into the shower. I could feel my pills wearing off, my mind was wondering, that's how I knew. My mind, when wondering, would drift off to what had happen 2 years ago. Somethings I didn't want to remember, things I wish the pills would permanently get rid of. 

I thought of Sage, my son, whom I had a miscarriage with. I was 7 months along, driving in the snow, and had forgotten a charger for my camera. The whole night was fuzzy, but I know I was in an accident. My mom, Jack and Butcher had been there, in the hospital, while I was unconscious; they were the ones to tell me I had lost Sage. I went through a breakdown, were I didn't eat, sleep, or do much of anything; it took me 4 weeks to actually move, and when I did, my mom had me come stay with her in California, along with her fiancée, for a while.

I was there for 9 months, seeing a therapist, and missing Chicago. I had lived in that painted up home with Butcher and Jack; as Jack's assistant. They are the greatest people I've ever gotten to known. Without them, I'd probably still be in California, living in my mom's guest room.
-

I stepped out the shower, wrapping up and went back to my room. I could smell coffee, bacon and eggs being made through my open bedroom door.

"Breakfast!" Butcher called.

"Coming!" I shouted back.

I went through my closet, grabbing a yellow laced shirt, black jeans, and grabbed some flats. I closed the door, went back to the bed and dropped the clothes on it.

A lot of my wardrobe has changed in the past two years, most of my t-shirts were used as rags now, worn only when I was lazy or painting. I had gotten into the 'bohemian chic' style while in California. Most of my music taste had changed, too, thanks to Tyler.

"You take your pills?" Butcher called as I went to my dresser for underwear.

"I am," I called back.

Butcher takes great care of me, he's my best friend, making sure I'm alright and take my medication. And, he also makes sure I see my therapist.

I went to my vanity, dressed now, and grabbed my pills. I'm on depression and anxiety medication. After swallowing down the big white pills I went out to the kitchen.

Butcher was at the table, grubbing and sipping down orange juice. I smiled at him.

"'Sup," I sat across from him.

"Feeling weird yet?" he joked as I grabbed at some bacon.

"Slowly, but surely," I told him, taking a swig from my coffee mug.

The pills I took would make me feel weird inside; mostly my stomach would get queasy and my nerves felt numb. The memory part of my brain shut down some, it was like half of my mind shut off for 16 hours.

"You ready for your trip?" he asked next, taking another piece of bacon.

"Yeah, my mom and Chris are excited," I shrugged.

"Any jobs?" I shook my head.

"Not really, just one for some band, but then I'm just gonna relax and enjoy my vacation from my therapist."

Butcher hummed, mouthful of orange juice, bacon and scrambled eggs. I just picked at my food, mostly drinking my coffee. In the past year or so coffee has become my best friend, along with the occasional cigarette. The nights, when I was really depressed and without pills, I would drink a big cup full of coffee. I guess it was therapeutic, too.