Page 2 of Love Bitters

It takes hours for the tears to stop flowing. By that time, my body aches all over, and my stomach is in knots from hunger. Sucking in a harsh breath in the dark of my room, I leave it hanging in my lungs for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. My face feels puffy like I got stung by a whole hive of bees. At least it doesn’t hurt like it. No, that would be my heart. I never would’ve thought when people refer to their heart breaking, it actually feels that way. Guess I know better now.

I’ve got a headache that’s pounding like it’s trying to push my eyeballs out of their sockets, and I no longer hear the news coming from the living room upstairs, nor the sounds of my mother wandering the house, cleaning the already spotless space. The house has gone completely silent, and those two things tell me that it’s late enough for them to have gone to bed. I’m tempted to search out my phone just to be sure, but I’m not that brave yet. After being a no show for our date, Ollie and Evan no doubt reached out multiple times, and I can’t face that at the moment.

Another wave of devastation hits me like a punch to the stomach as I think about hurting either one of them. They’re good men and don’t deserve it.

They also don’t deserve to be tied down and burdened before they’re ready, that little voice in the back of my mind says.

As much as I hate that stupid voice, it’s right. Leaving the phone behind unchecked, I slowly make my way up the stairs. Thankfully, my parents’ room is on the second level of the house. I’d hate for my creeping around to wake them up. Purely selfish reasons, of course, because I don’t want to answer any questions. I just want to grab a bite to eat to try and calm the storm in my belly before retreating to my room.

This menial task is clearly not as easy as I thought it’d be. The leftover scent of the fried pork chops my mother made for dinner lingers in the air, making my stomach roll. Racing to the backdoor, I’ve barely slung it open and made it to the porch rail before I’m heaving over the side. Hours of not having any sustenance comes back to bite me in the ass by turning the dry heaves into a pain in my chest and gut.

Dear God, if the next eight months are going to be like this, I’m not going to survive. Resting my forearms and face against the rail, I take deep steadying breaths to calm the clenching in my abdomen. When it finally feels safe enough to stand straight, I get another reminder of my situation with a slap of dizziness that almost knocks me on my ass. Tears threaten to renew their fervor as I wish I could take my frustration and anger out on something. If only I had the energy.

As it stands, I’ll settle for grabbing a bite to eat and lying back down. I’m grateful to realize most of the scent wafted out of the open door when I stumbled out here, so it’s faint as I walk back inside and lock the door behind me. Still there but not enough to make me sick again. Sneaking into the restricted part of the pantry, I snatch a two-liter ginger ale off the floor and a box of saltines. Mother has always set aside this section for planned dinners and such, but at this point, I’m willing to risk it for the biscuit. Then my fingers close around a jar that makes me gag from thought alone.

My arms loaded with my three spoils, I grab a big spoon from the silverware drawer and quietly make my trek back downstairs. Once there, I plop down beside the body pillow I’d been clinging to like a lifeline during my crying jag. I wouldn’t even consider eating in my bed if this were any average day since I hate the feeling of crumbs and the thought of sleeping in filth. Tonight, however, I’m going to make an exception.

Cracking open the soda first, I take a few slow sips straight from the bottle to make sure it’s going to stay down. Better than, actually. It makes the rolling feeling in my belly finally stop. I don’t want to overdo it, but the crying and puking have left me feeling parched, so I take a huge gulp before setting the bottle on my nightstand.

An unladylike belch slips from my chest. In the quiet in my room, it almost makes me chuckle, but dark thoughts are still too close to the surface for that to happen. My lips turn down as I start tucking into the saltines. Along with the soda, they go a long way in helping. For whatever reason though, satisfaction is just out of reach. Eyeballing the third thing I grabbed from the pantry like it’s a snake about to strike me, I rub my tongue on the roof of my mouth, fighting the urge to kick it off the bed.

Picking the jar up, I spin the lid off and scoop a spoonful of the gooey substance out, trying to ignore the smell. All the efforts end up being futile because the moment the peanut butter touches my tongue, I groan in this weird contentment. My entire life has been spent avoiding the nastiness, now here I sit in the dark, eating it.

This is the point in which I know my life has spiraled out of control. Not having five boyfriends or even having their baby. No, it’s the gross concoction of sugary peanuts that has finally done me in. The laugh that spills from my lips is slightly manic and ends with a few more tears rolling down my face. Loading up another spoon, I suck it down greedily, all the while wishing I had some raisins and M&Ms to go with it.

Shit. If I eat this in front of my mother, she’ll know without a doubt something is up. So, I’ve got two options. I could deny my cravings, but the thought alone has me tugging the jar closer to my body like someone is standing in front of me about to steal it. Since I have absolutely no self-control, that leaves me with option number two. I need to get my ass in gear and get the hell out of my parents’ house, which will be absolutely impossible without a job. I should’ve started hunting after my New Year’s vacation, but I’ve been thoroughly distracted by the five guys who came back with me. Not really an excuse, no matter how true.

Loosening my grip on the peanut butter jar, I sink the covered spoon in my mouth as I get up in search of my laptop. The damn thing hasn’t been fired up in over two months, but it’s not misplaced. It and the charger are where I left them over on my small desk in the corner.

Once I’m settled back on the bed with it plugged in, I wait patiently for it to fire up by taking another mouthful of peanut butter. At this rate, I’ll have this jar finished in a couple days. Another thing my mother is bound to notice. Anxiety rides my chest hard as I think about the daunting tasks ahead of me all while keeping this giant secret. I’m going to need more than a job, more like a damn miracle.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out again, I get comfortable as I pull up some of the more prominent job sites. The first two don’t inspire much faith, and I can feel my heart starting to drown again when it’s barely clinging to the life preserver as it is. Even my snack is starting to taste like ash in my mouth.

As I type in the third site, I mentally cross off everything that can’t be of use. It’s two pages in when my luck turns around. Not only are there several manager positions available around town, but there are some data entry ones as well. They’re all mainly for department stores and small businesses, though beggars can’t be choosers as Mother always says. Digging my resume out of the folder collecting dust on my hard drive, I submit it with my application for every recently filed job that fits what I’m looking for. All in all, it ends up being twenty-two. Maybe out of those I’ll be lucky enough to get at least one or two interview calls.

Shutting everything back down, I place my laptop and the resealed jar beside my bed. I’m lost in thought, considering what life might be like if I can get a job and get out of here as soon as I want to. Fantasy is interrupted by the sound of my phone’s text tone, and immediately, the quiet bubble I’ve managed to wrap around myself violently bursts.

Hand falling to my chest to keep it from combusting like the bubble, I let the tears flow from the corners of my eyes. They’ve soaked into my hair before I’m able to pull myself up off the bed. In the dark it was easy to spot my phone’s hiding spot when it lit up and has since gone black again. I’d really like to turn it off, but that would require me to look at the screen. That puts me at risk of seeing their messages, so I don’t even bother unlocking it. Instead, I flick the little button on the side to silence it. Give it a few days, and maybe they’ll take the hint to stop trying.

A hiccuping sob echoes around my room before I let the phone drop to the carpet at my feet. I’m glad I was able to keep enough of a clear head to submit applications before being reminded of the worst part of this decision. Now that I’m crying again, I feel worthless. Dragging ass back across the room, I drop like a stone onto my bed, praying that soon this won’t hurt so badly.

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