Page 42 of Chase
She almost slipped away. Her fucking heart stopped three times that night and each time, they brought her back. Brought her back to what though? To her living in a fucking homeless shelter? To her living in a state of starvation that has left her weak? To her having to deal with fucking assholes like me and the other jerkoffs that she tutors for a measly income as she pushes herself through her own classes and coursework?
I’m wondering if anyone has ever given her a second glance or if she’s been overlooked her whole life. I’ve pieced together that she’s had to crawl out of shitty conditions only to be met with new ones here at school. I doubt there are many scholarship students living in fucking homeless shelters and rationing out meals. I can’t believe this is her fucking life.
My sister ripped me a new asshole when she told me that my absences and tardiness to tutoring had cost Edison the ability to feed herself. She was fucking suffering because of me. The way I fucking hate myself for that has me scratching my skin until its raw and red.
The constant gnawing itch that burns over my skin hasn’t let up in fucking weeks. It’s like every single bad choice and fucked up decision I’ve ever made are little bugs crawling all over me.
Watching that nurse take her vitals was too fucking much. Hearing from my sister that she’s still recovering and then seeing it has me hell-bent on doing shit right this semester. I’ve texted her to get the schedule and make sure she knows I’m serious.
She was so pissed at one point when we were going back and forth ,I swear to God she was hissing at me. She reminded me of a little black cat. It fits. She’s got that tight little body, the long black hair, dark eyes, and fucking attitude. Cats also don’t like to be fucked with and don’t trust easily. She’s definitely a feisty little kitten.
A kitten whose blood stained more than my skin. It’s like she bled into me and seeped into my soul that night.
I hate myself for almost not seeing her, for coming way too close to leaving her to die. I hate her for almost doing that too. I hate myself for not picking up her phone call when she had the goddamn brass balls to go follow that cunt whore Lexi and those shit stains Waterstone and Ellis back to my sister’s dorm.
I hate her for making me fucking worry about her every minute of every day since I heard her plea for me to “just get here.” I hate myself for feeling something for her. I hate that I hate her and I hate that I don’t.
When I separate from my brother and get myself to class I still can’t fucking shake her. It’s because she’s in my fucking blood. I text my tattoo guy to see if he has any openings today. Ineed that fucking needle to push more of my story into my skin. I need that tattoo gun to numb the fucking unbearable pain.
He asks me what I’m thinking this time and I don’t waste a damn second texting him back. I know exactly what I fucking want.
ME:
I want a fucking pissed off black kitten hissing with her claws out
ALVI:
Fucking random but okay. See you at 1AM
ME:
Bet
Chapter Seventeen
“YOU DON’T HAVEto wait for me, you know. You didn’t even have to come,” I tell Jake, Monroe, and Max who are all sitting in the waiting room of the Wellness Center with me.
“First off, we told you that we’re in this with you. Second, we had a feeling you were going to try to self-sabotage yourself and blow this off so we’re here to make sure that doesn’t happen,” Jake responds and goes back to flipping through some magazine that was lying around the waiting room of the Wellness Center.
“I promised your sister I’d make sure you got your ass in there.”
“I just wanted to hear what happened with Sloane after she picked you up last night. Don’t leave anything out, sunshine.” Monroe says and pockets his phone giving me his undivided attention.
“You do know it’s my choice if I don’t want to do this right?” I ignore his inquisition about Sloane and try to get them to leave. If I had more fight left in me I probably would’ve dug my heels in and either flat-out refused or quit the team when Coach demanded that I give therapy a shot.
It’s not that I don’t think counseling can help people, I know it can. I’ve seen the good it’s done for my sister.I just don’t think anyone can help me.
I’m too exhausted to give it,or me, the attention it needs. I’ve heard B say that therapy is only an hour a week, the rest of the time is up to you to make the changes you need for yourself. I just don’t care about myself enough to do that. I’m not worth the effort. It’s easier to just coast. Flip on that autopilot mode. It’s kinda become the only way I can get through the day now.
“You’re doing this. You need it. You’ve been like this for months now and it’s time to get some help. If I have to drag you to every single session I will. I know what depression is like and I know that this can help you sort it out.” Jake says and holds out his fisted hand for me to bump.
“Come on, man, give it a shot. What’s the alternative? Getting kicked off the team? Feeling miserable every damn day?” Max adds and his fisted hand joins Jake.
“You can do this, brother, we know you can. We’re right here with you.” Monroe holds out his fist and the three of them wait, giving me a moment to agree. I hold my fist out and they enthusiastically smash our hands together.
A second later I’m called back into a private office to meet my new therapist. I rise from the plastic chair I’ve felt stuck to and wipe the sweat off my hands. The three of them stand and clap me on the back. It’s all probably overkill but I appreciate them showing up, making sure I got here, and believing in me when I clearly don’t think any of this is worth a damn. Even so, I don’t wanna let them down.
I’m nervous. Really fucking nervous. My hands are still sweating and my mouth is bone dry. My fingers are shaky as I twist off the plastic cap of the water bottle Max brought me and take a sip. The cool liquid is hard to swallow around the lump that’s lodged in my throat.I don’t know if I can do this.
