Page 53 of Chasing Fireflies

“I hate myself.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I hate myself. I hate everything. I hate this stupid house. I hate this stupid kitchen. I hate this coffee mug.” She picks it up and smashes it onto the floor. “I hate you!” she screams, walking over broken glass and running out of here. The sting in my chest is the only thing she leaves. That and the small drops of blood on the floor.

*

I walk out onto the porch and sit down, running my hands over my face and looking out. The moonlight casts a glow on the road, and smoke still rises from the fire pit in the yard. I know Sara doesn’t hate me, but damn, if those words coming from her mouth don’t hurt. I hear the screen door open, and I turn to see her. She leans against it and puts her hands behind her back.

“Cash, I’m so sorry,” she says with tears in her eyes, and I know she is.

“Come here, baby,” I say, holding out my hand. She takes it eagerly, and I pull her onto my lap. She wraps her arm around my neck, and I put my face in her hair and breathe her in. She smells like fire and broken promises. One day she is going to hate herself too much, and that’ll be the end of everything. I fear that day so terribly it makes my hands tremble. She cries, and I breathe. She hurts, and I do, too. Our hearts beat the same rhythm, and our souls are made from the same star, but her mind fights it and it ruins us both.

“I love you,” I tell her. “I’ll love you even when we are nothing but a faded memory.”

“Promise me,” she says.

“Promise, promise, baby.”

Chapter Sixteen

Sara

I flip through the pages of my journal, skimming over words I’ve written throughout the past few months. Happy days, sad days, crazy days, and days filled with all emotions inside a different hour. I’m all over the place, and I toss the book aside and open the cap on my medicine bottle. Two pills fall out onto my hand, and I throw them back, chasing them with a glass of water from my nightstand.

“Today is going to be a good day, Sara.” I talk myself up and take a deep breath before I stand, wincing as soon as I do because I cut my foot pretty bad from stepping over the broken mug. Sighing, I pull a sweater over my head. You can feel the cold wind coming in from the old windows. The house holds a constant chill, and they say we may get snow today. We shall see.

I walk out of the bedroom and down the stairs. Cash sits on the couch with a foot propped up on the coffee table. I walk over and sit down beside him. He puts his arm around me, and I lift my foot and hug my knee. I take medicine that doesn’t work, and I’ll be so tired in a little while, I’ll probably fall asleep right here. That is, if Cash lets me.

“Your mom called while you were getting dressed.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask.

“Yep.”

“I’ll call her later.”

“Up to you.” He shrugs.

“How long has it been now?” I ask.

“Since when?”

“Since you’ve spoken to your parents.”

“A while.” He looks down.

“You should call them.”

“Why?”

“Because life’s too short. Because I know you miss them.”

“They didn’t support me, Sara. They didn’t support us.”

“I know that, but people mess up.”

“Yeah, but who doesn’t show up to their son’s wedding?”

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