not gonna happen here."
He continues to ignore my pleas, and he's starting to piss me off. I'm done. Picking up my phone, I put it into my pocket and tuck my folded ballcap into my back pocket and walk out of the house. I'm going home. Where I can be comfortable, where I can rest and where it doesn't smell like old sweat socks and football gear.
Moments later, Tim pulls up in his truck alongside me as I walk. His windows are rolled down. "Let me drive you."
I offer him the same look he offered me when we were in the house. Boredom and distaste. He stops the truck, and I climb inside without speaking to him.
"Look. I was worried about you. I didn't think it would be that bad to crash at my house for a day or two, and quite frankly, I wasn't expecting any house guests, so my home probably did smell a little funky and my sofa did have crumbs all over it. But you need to stop acting like a damn princess and stop feeling sorry for yourself."
He turns the corner that takes us to the street I live on, and I turn to glare at him. "Feeling sorry for myself? What the hell are you talking about?"
He stays silent for the couple moments it takes to get to my driveway. Throwing his truck into park, he shifts his body and drapes his right arm over the back of the seat.
"I get it. I'm not a complete ass. I get that you lost Mel. I get that you were in a horrific accident. I get that you didn't get closure because her parents were dicks. But what I don't get is almost two damn years later, and you still mope over the love you lost. You can't move on because no one is Mel, or Mel wouldn't approve or some nonsense like that."
"You really think that?" It's starting to anger me. "You really think I was moping around for Mel? I wasn't moping. I'm not a freakin teenage girl."
"I hate to break it to you, but for the past almost two years, you have been a teenage girl, and I'm done. SO many of us are done, but everyone is afraid to say something because you might snap. We're afraid that you didn't get the proper help you needed to move on with your life, that maybe just maybe we will lose you too."
It's like a slap in the face. It stings coming from Tim.
I open the truck door and slide out, slamming it behind me as I storm away. For once today I am not thinking about my throbbing head. Or Mel, or Riley, or Trina. I'm not feeling bad for myself. Instead, I feel anger. So much anger and resentment for my friend. Pushing the door open at my house, I stalk inside and straight into the bathroom to wash my face.
Turning on the taps, I splash warm water on my face and rub my eyes trying to remove the cobwebs from my head. Looking up into the mirror, I see my pathetic reflection staring back at me. Realization smacks me in the face like a ton of bricks. Tim's right. I have been a mopey teenage girl, and I need to end this.
I start the water to my shower, and slowly take off my clothes, trying to avoid the bandage on my head. I grab my razor out of my shaving kit before stepping under the spray. Facing the water, I can avoid getting any on the wound while it soaks my body. I look down at the blade of the razor and lift it up to my exposed neck.
Carefully, I take my first swipe and remove the first strip of stubble. I continue this motion over and over again shaving below my chin and keeping the stubble on my face. I can't wash my hair until I take off the bandage, and I can't remove that for two days.
I have to change. I have to step forward and away from the accident and move on with my life. First thing I need closure. I need to say good bye to Mel. I will print off the pictures but I have to take them off my phone. I need to say goodbye, and I plan on doing so as soon as I can.
Stepping out of the shower, I swipe the condensation from the mirror and take note of the small knicks I left on my skin. Only two this time. I rip small pieces of tissue and stick them on the open wounds before I pick the small scissors out of my shaving kit and give
He continues to ignore my pleas, and he's starting to piss me off. I'm done. Picking up my phone, I put it into my pocket and tuck my folded ballcap into my back pocket and walk out of the house. I'm going home. Where I can be comfortable, where I can rest and where it doesn't smell like old sweat socks and football gear.
Moments later, Tim pulls up in his truck alongside me as I walk. His windows are rolled down. "Let me drive you."
I offer him the same look he offered me when we were in the house. Boredom and distaste. He stops the truck, and I climb inside without speaking to him.
"Look. I was worried about you. I didn't think it would be that bad to crash at my house for a day or two, and quite frankly, I wasn't expecting any house guests, so my home probably did smell a little funky and my sofa did have crumbs all over it. But you need to stop acting like a damn princess and stop feeling sorry for yourself."
He turns the corner that takes us to the street I live on, and I turn to glare at him. "Feeling sorry for myself? What the hell are you talking about?"
He stays silent for the couple moments it takes to get to my driveway. Throwing his truck into park, he shifts his body and drapes his right arm over the back of the seat.
"I get it. I'm not a complete ass. I get that you lost Mel. I get that you were in a horrific accident. I get that you didn't get closure because her parents were dicks. But what I don't get is almost two damn years later, and you still mope over the love you lost. You can't move on because no one is Mel, or Mel wouldn't approve or some nonsense like that."
"You really think that?" It's starting to anger me. "You really think I was moping around for Mel? I wasn't moping. I'm not a freakin teenage girl."
"I hate to break it to you, but for the past almost two years, you have been a teenage girl, and I'm done. SO many of us are done, but everyone is afraid to say something because you might snap. We're afraid that you didn't get the proper help you needed to move on with your life, that maybe just maybe we will lose you too."
It's like a slap in the face. It stings coming from Tim.
I open the truck door and slide out, slamming it behind me as I storm away. For once today I am not thinking about my throbbing head. Or Mel, or Riley, or Trina. I'm not feeling bad for myself. Instead, I feel anger. So much anger and resentment for my friend. Pushing the door open at my house, I stalk inside and straight into the bathroom to wash my face.
Turning on the taps, I splash warm water on my face and rub my eyes trying to remove the cobwebs from my head. Looking up into the mirror, I see my pathetic reflection staring back at me. Realization smacks me in the face like a ton of bricks. Tim's right. I have been a mopey teenage girl, and I need to end this.
I start the water to my shower, and slowly take off my clothes, trying to avoid the bandage on my head. I grab my razor out of my shaving kit before stepping under the spray. Facing the water, I can avoid getting any on the wound while it soaks my body. I look down at the blade of the razor and lift it up to my exposed neck.
Carefully, I take my first swipe and remove the first strip of stubble. I continue this motion over and over again shaving below my chin and keeping the stubble on my face. I can't wash my hair until I take off the bandage, and I can't remove that for two days.
I have to change. I have to step forward and away from the accident and move on with my life. First thing I need closure. I need to say good bye to Mel. I will print off the pictures but I have to take them off my phone. I need to say goodbye, and I plan on doing so as soon as I can.
Stepping out of the shower, I swipe the condensation from the mirror and take note of the small knicks I left on my skin. Only two this time. I rip small pieces of tissue and stick them on the open wounds before I pick the small scissors out of my shaving kit and give
Similar Books
