Page 85 of Overdue I Love You's
Those parts of me reach out to others in hopes of making a connection. If I understand people, side with them, know their side, they’d see that—seeme. I’d never have to experience the initial presence of loneliness again.
Except, when a single teardrop falls from my eyes and slips down my wrist towards my elbow, I’m not entirely sure if any of this is true.
The ringing gets louder, and the throb becomes stronger.
Pain in the ear is another kind altogether. It’s hot, burns from the inside, feels like it’s bruising with blood. Every sound ticks into my eardrum and scoops a place out for excruciation.
The buzz from a phone charger hisses. Curtains brushing against the glass door scrapes closer to insanity.
At home, I easily stay inside and bask in darkness.
But I’m not home.
It’ll be fine.
Gathering whatever remnant of energy left, I rip the blankets off and push myself to get up.
If I don’t die in the process.
It takes me fifteen minutes to brush my teeth, another ten to wash my face (excluding the time I sat in front of the toilet waiting for the rush of nausea to escape my body), and a solid twenty to put myself in a decent outfit. I leave my hair down, unbrushed, because even my fingers touching my scalp hurts.
And when I get to the stairs, feel the wooden steps beneath my feet, and the air from the vent rushing onto my skin—I want to get back in bed.
Last pill of mine, you shall be used.
Dark, blurry lines shadow around my peripheral vision.
Somehow I make it down while holding the railing, walls, and the remaining pieces of my sanity.
Hina’s talking about something, she’s not necessarily loud but right now, whispering and yelling are on the same wavelength.
“You look like shit,” despite the insulting comment, Kat sounds worried. It makes me smile—or well whatever forced expression I’m pulling right now.
The attention swerves on me. “I’m okay,” giving a sad excuse of a thumbs up. “Truly. Honestly, just feeling a bit down.” The words hit my tongue like gravel.
Rhys is there, invading my space, and holding my arms to help me.
I should be grateful, but it’s grating. I don’t like the touch and I’m overstimulated. Usually, my senses take turns malfunctioning. Right now, sound and touch are nails on a chalkboard.
“Thanks,” I say instead. Because I’m a damn people pleaser even when I’m in pain.
“You should go back to bed,” he says. Concern etches his brows. “Do you want me to help you back?”
“No,” I shake my head with a smile. “If I wasn’t okay,” a pang of ache bangs onto the back of my head, near my neck. Pressing my lips together, “I would’ve stayed upstairs.”
Rhys looks like he wants to argue.
“You know,” Shaan pitches in after Rhys has no choice but to help me sit down. “My mother gives me warm milk and honey when I’mfeeling down. I must say that it feels very magical and rejuvenating. You should have it too.”
Not even an offer to make it. “Thanks, Shaan. I’ll make sure to check it out if I feel worse.”
IfI can get up and do something for myself, that is.
Everyone has said something but?—
Dean’s looking right at me. A rim of dark green around his dilated pupils. Gaze as intense as the pulsating tension in my chest. It should be overwhelming, but it’s not.
My shoulders sag, my temperature eases, and I swear even the muscles in my neck rest. All I feel is relief.
