Storm, Meet Raine

How the Tables Turn.

HER.

     "Can you try and get up? Just your head, Carter." Vincent prods me from the front, his warm hands on both of my shoulders, gently wiggling me. "Please?"

     I groan into the pillows, "No."

     "This isn't healthy."

     "I've lost my will to live," I sigh dramatically, but lift my head anyway, and meet the brown, empathetic eyes of my friend. He frowns, and wipes underneath my eyes with the soft pads of his thumbs and shows me the black makeup smeared across them.

     "I fixed your face for you, and you've messed it up in five minutes." He holds my face in his hands, staring at me in pity while I blink, my wet, heavy eyelashes briefly meeting the top of my cheeks. I really, really miss him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper painfully, my voice slightly raspy from not being used in a while. I've spent most of the day crying. Just like I've spent yesterday. And the day before...and the day before. Vincent tsks, opening my makeup bag before wiping my eyeliner-stained cheeks, gently swiping the mascara crumbles from under my dark-circled eyes with lemon scented wipes. This is week eight of my friends attempting to get me out of my newly-rented condo. Bambi was obviously the first one, though she was trying to take me out to the apartment we used to share. Her wicked form of helping me 'cope' was to watch a horribly sick, super romantic chick flick that would have me drowning in more tears than I am already.

Hard pass.

Fiona decided that trying to bribe me with liquor would do the trick. I could've thrown up, thinking about putting toxins into my body right now. I told her no.

Dana figured getting me out to a baseball field would help. Little did she know that Carson actually plays baseball, and the memories of us playing together when she pitched the idea made me sob, so we were back to square one. Instead of a somber no, she got a grumbly, bitter fuck you and I kicked her out. Not even fifty seconds later I apologized profusely through my thick tears and unstable emotions. She accepted it with a slightly sad laugh and offered to make me dinner. I said no.

Now we have Vincent, and I keep peering over his shoulders to see if Isaiah would be here with him, but he isn't. Not yet, at least.

"It's sorta bad to say, but your eyes haven't looked prettier since you got your heart broken," he comments, tilting my head upward to get us good eye contact. I didn't know whether to accept the compliment or feel offended that the only time he's complimented my eyes is right now in my time of despair. I blink, causing a tear that filled up in my eye to buckle under the pressure of my eyelids and drop, dipping into the black makeup pooling beneath my eyes and streaking down my face.

"Vincent..."

He continues wiping up the mess I make of myself, breathing a heavy, aggravated sigh before swiping my entire face with a fresh makeup wipe he pulled from the arm of the couch. He grumbles, "no makeup it is." I sink back into the couch, closing my eyes when he finishes. "Uh, hell no," he gently takes my hand and sits me upright. "We're leaving."

"I'm in pajamas," I sniffle tiredly.

"Better than nothing. Can we stand for a bit?"

     "I'm not injured, my heart is." I grab his waiting hand, and let him slowly stand me up to all of my average female height. I could almost feel the bags hanging below my eyes as I looked up at the taller man beckoning me to do something to boost my social/emotional health instead of crying all day, watching old romance and chick flick movies. Out of desperation, I caught myself briefly scrolling through horror films, but I simply couldn't stomach the titles and imagery. Would've been cool if I could brag to my friends about how I can now watch them, but sadly, I'd need some outside force (Carson) to get me to sit through them.