Page 16 of Shattered Echoes

“Shit!” I toss the box aside and massage my temples.

My eyebrows knit in a frown as I grouch at the realization that I'm fresh out. I head to the fridge to at least help myself to some milk, but I'm fresh out of that as well.

“You gotta be kidding me right now,” I whine to myself.

It's been a week since I returned to Shadow's Bend and, frankly speaking, it hasn't really been easy. No one said that it would be, though. With each day comes a separate challenge, a cruel reminder of why I'm back here. For an entire week, I've fought those challenges and the demotions that came with it.

One thing I figured out to be helpful with my anxiety and depression is the morning runs I engage in everyday. Elias has been quite helpful as well — not that he knows anything about me, though.

Elias Hart loves to jog in the early hours of the morning just like me and recently, we've gotten closer, a lot closer than I had initially thought, actually. He's the one who knows how to start and keep conversation, and these conversations of ours are a part of the very few reasons I'm still sane.

I scan the interior of the fridge to see if there's anything edible in there, but sadly, there isn't, and now I'm wondering how I let my kitchen go dry.

Scratching the back of my head in a mix of anger and disappointment, I shut the fridge and decide that I don't have a choice — I need to go shopping unless I want to starve myself to death.

Leo had told me that cooking for myself and going out to restock my groceries myself would help my state of mind. He must be glad now if he knows I'm faced the challenge of going to the store.

Stepping out of the kitchen, I head back upstairs to grab some cash and my jacket. I open the wardrobe doors. They part smoothly, revealing my collection of jackets neatly hung on hangers. I select a coffee brown one and slip into it.

I glance at the nightstand next to my bed, where my journal is lying open. With gentle steps, I go over and pick it up, skimming through the letters that I've been writing to myself. As I flip through the pages, I notice a couple of half-finished letters I'd written to myself and my ex.

Journaling is another way I escape from this prison. It's a coping mechanism that has actually been quite helpful as well this past week. Documenting my feelings and my failed attempts at getting better have been of great help, and I find solace in the concept of this documentation.

I sigh heavily and toss the journal back on the nightstand. Maybe I'll return to those half-finished letters later, but for now, I have to figure out what to do about my kitchen supplies.

Sighting the keys to my truck on a table by the window, I walk over and snatch them off the surface before going out.

I glance at the burner flip phone in my hand, pissed that I'm forced to live like this, trapped in an era where there's no internet and all this phone does is make calls and send texts. I feel like I'm stuck in the twentieth century.

I'm not allowed to have access to the outside world. No social media, nothing at all to keep me informed about what's going on in the world, and only a few people know about this burner phone. Oh, and by ‘limited’, I mean only Leo and Gabriella.

Heading back downstairs, I leave the house, locking the doors behind me. I'm giving the idea of going out to get my own groceries and try, so Leo better be right. Hopefully, picking up my own groceries and involving myself in the minute details will make me feel better. On my way to the truck, I see Colette’s truck parked outside, and I think maybe she's home.

I can't run into her today. I really don't have the strength to deal with her right now, even though it was fun watching her flame up after I get on her nerves. Ever since our last encounter, I haven't really set eyes on her, per se. Well, I have a couple of times, but all of those times, she made it pretty clear that she was avoiding me. She's still pissed at our last banter, and it's just fun to me, watching her try to ignore me.

Colette's attempts to not get involved with me are so keen that I've only been able to catch glimpses of her since that day. Whenever she sees me, she's always huffing and puffing to get inside her house before I can spend the next two seconds looking at her. For some weird reason, I'm happy whenever she does that.

I shake my head and get into the truck, leaning against the headrest of the driver's seat as I take a deep breath. This is the first time I'm going out into town in the gleam of day, and I'm not just strolling down my street, I'm going to the grocery store.

What are the chances that I'll run into a familiar face who's going to hold me down with lots of personal questions? I am so sure that it'll definitely happen, and this is the reason I never really wanted to go out here in the first place.

I hold on to the steering wheel, my fingers squeezed around it as I try to summon the courage to move. I'm very comfortable in my space, and I love my solitude. It means privacy. Going out to mix with a crowd that I've been trying to avoid for the past week seems like a Herculean task.

Thoughts about staying back are tugging against the fringes of my mind, and all I have to do is give in. It's as simple as that. My stomach rumbles, and I know I can't continue to starve just because I'm not yet ready to step out of my comfort zone. I need to be brave enough to do this. I'll keep an open mind, expecting the worst but hoping for the best.

Come on, man. It's just a simple errand. No big deal.

“Here goes nothing.”

I draw in a deep breath and slot the key into the ignition, twisting gently as the engine comes alive and revs for a while. With my seatbelt strapped on, I press my foot down on the accelerator and drive off.

I nod rhythmically to the song playing on the radio while I drive across town, whooshing past a few landmark buildings that have been there as long as I can remember.

Music has a way of healing the soul, so they say, and they aren't wrong. Even though this wound of mine is taking a lot longer to heal. I sing along to the song, occasionally drumming my fingers against the dashboard as I drive on the lonely road that streaks through a meadow.

Since my journey to the store began, I can count the number of cars I've seen on this same road so far and, ironically, it's quite refreshing. It's a lot different from the busy roads in the city where impatient drivers constantly blare their horns and cuss at each other for reckless driving.

I've had my fair share of the adventure on the roads in the city. A smile lines a corner of my lips as I recount the day when I had snapped at a driver whose car had refused to start after waiting in line for the lights to turn green. His car was directly in front of me, and I was in a hurry. I blasted my horn at him, and instead of him signaling me that his vehicle was refusing to start, he stuck out his hand from the window and gave me the middle finger.

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