Behind Blue Eyes

30

March 30th

This is my second to last day breathing. Sure, it's a weird feeling, but I've been relapsing heavily and at an unusally accelerated rate in the last couple of weeks.

I'm supposed to go to a session today. It is Tuesday, after all. I'm not going. I'll pretend I'm sick. No one knows or even has a clue to what I'm gonna do tomorrow.

Then I think about Paul. He might think I'm avoiding the meeting because of what happened last night. Some of that might be true; I'm still traumatized from the rejection, but it's not entirely because of him. He's a nice guy, and my mind can't grasp the fact that he wants to do what I wanted to do last night, just not at the time I tried springing it on him.

That's one of the problems I have: my anxiety can't wrap it's hands around certain facts.

I pull out that forbidden baggie and take a pill. It's high lasts me until the early evening. After it wears off, I take the baggie and grab another pill out of it. That's right, I'm gonna take another. I plop it in my mouth and it not only gets me high, again, but it gives me the feeling of being somewhat drunk. I head downstairs, stumbling as I make my way down. David is home, so hopefully he won't notice or bother me, but at least our parents are out with friends.

David hears the noise and turns around, muting the TV to face his full attention on me.

"Sam? You OK?"

"Hmm?" Is all I can say.

"Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?"

"Nooooo" I hold out too long. "I'm good" I goofily smile.

I waddle over to the counter. "Are you drunk?" He asks.

"No, are you fffffucking nutsssss?"

"You're on something, I can tell." He pauses. "You... how are you like this? We don't have any alcohol in the house except for the beer in the fridge, but I haven't seen you come down to get anything at all."

I freeze up. The adrenaline shooting through my body is helping me sober up a bit, but only just a bit. "I did" I lie.

"Did what?"

"Come down."

"When?"

I don't respond back. After an unusally long silence, his eyes grow wider and his face grows red with anger. "You fucking didn't" he bellows.

"Didn't do what?" I ask.

He stands there for a few seconds. "Are you using, again?"

"Using what?"

"Don't FUCKING play dumb with me, Sam! The pills!" He screams.

"Don't scream at me like that" I say, this time feeling a bit more sober and conscious of what is happening.

"If I go upstairs and find those pills, I'm gonna flip shit!"

He starts walking upstairs. I desperately follow him, but he beats me to my room before I can.

And what do you know? Like a fucking dipshit, I left the baggie out on the nightstand. He sees it and grabs it before I even have a chance to tell him not to. He turns to me with it in his hand.

"Samantha Jameson P-"

"It's not what it looks like" I lie.

"Then what the fuck does it look like, Sam?" Huh? You tell me? Because it looks a whole hell of a lot like you're fucking using again!"

"Stop it" I say, quietly.

"How the fuck could you be so stupid? Especially after you almost died last year from taking these!" he continues to yell.

"Please" I beckon once more.

"And to think that you were getting better. I knew something was up, but I just couldn't figure it out! Well, here it is!" he screams as he gets closer to me.

"Shut up!" I scream back at him. I hit his shoulders, pushing him back, somewhat. "Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up!" I scream even louder.

I start to break down and start sobbing. "Your birthday is tomorrow. Is this really how you want to go into it?"

I stand up and roll up my sleeves, showing him my bandaged arms. "Who gives a fuck? Because I don't. It's all worthless, anyway."

"Sammie..." he trails off. His mood of being outright angry and vitriolic towards me has cooled off and is now showing concern for what he sees. "Why?" is the only thing he can think to ask.

"You know why" I say through tears and a now raspy voice. "You know why. I hate living, David. It's nothing fucking new so why even ask?"

"But why now? You've been having such a good streak, recently."

"Oh, stop it with the 'good streak' bullshit. It was all gonna come falling apart. You and I both know it. It's inevitable."

David holds me as I fall forward into him, sobbing uncontrollably. "We need to get you into bed" he tells me. He helps me into my bed, My body is shaking from the high and sadness running through me. He covers me up with my blankets and sheets after I'm lying down.

He stays near my bed until I can fall asleep. I fucking knew all of this was gonna happen and I'm really frightened to wonder if he's gonna wait until on or after my birthday to tell our parents of what's going on. I don't know and I, frankly, don't care anymore.

As I'm about ready to go to sleep, I hear him lean over me and say "I'm sorry, Sam. I really am." He kisses my cheek.

I fall asleep after an hour. I feel David get up and leave the room. He leaves my door open, however, only because he doesn't want me to harm myself in the middle of the night. Don't worry, tonight isn't the night.

Christ, tomorrow's the day. The day. I hesitate to think of how it's going to go and just try to enjoy my final night of sleep. Hopefully, it's a peaceful night.