I didn't take my meds today.
Two days ago Caitlin Adams asked if I was bipolar because I was into her on Monday but by Friday I had figured out that she was too demanding.
But those words, that question... it seeped into my soul and tarnished my tho...
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SEVEN DAYS, six hours and twenty three minutes. That's how long it's been since I was forced back here. How long it has been since I last spoke to Arlo.
There was void in my heart and it suffocated me from the inside out. I missed waking up to the smell of toast in the morning, now I have to wake up and make the toast. I missed listening to Cams fashion updates on the bus to school or how Henry used to give me the fright of my life whenever he silently appeared behind me.
Secretly I had a fantasy, it was the only thing keeping me going. Arlo chased me to Fresco, climbed up my drainpipe and stole me away in the dead of night.
I made sure to always keep my window unlocked just incase. But in reality I knew that wouldn't happen and it wasn't fair to either of us to think that way.
My life and happiness didn't rest on him. Besides, data protection meant that they probably didn't even know where I lived now. If they were fighting my father for custody it would go through lawyers and social workers. I personally would hear nothing.
As we walked into church this morning I could hear the lulling strums of an acoustic guitar flowing through the air. A low, gritty voice sung a sweet harmony softly into a microphone. I didn't recognise him which was strange because I knew everyone in this town. I picked at the sleeve of my cardigan and sat quietly on the pews next to my father, blending in like an invisible ghost.
He had instructed me to dress nice this morning because he wanted to introduce me to someone. I picked a pale yellow sundress with a small floral pattern. I paired it with a white cardigan because the dress had short sleeve straps and I couldn't disrespect my body by showing my shoulder. The sunflowers reminded me of performing arts class and Arlo's dancing.
Everything reminded me of him.
"That's Immanuel, Pastor Blues son. He attended boarding school and now he's studying the bible." My father whispered, I nodded in acknowledgment. "You're going on a date with him this Friday." My head flipped to my father with wide eyes and he nodded sternly, letting me know this was not up for negotiation.
Looking from afar Immanuel seemed alright, I suppose. He sung quietly and kept his head down, not interacting with the congregation. His cheeks blushed pink under the church podium lights and I got a shy vibe from him. Once the service started he hung his guitar around his neck and took a seat at the front.
Pastor Blue was ageing rapidly, every time I returned back to town it was like he had ten years of wrinkles added onto his face. Yet he still couldn't grow a decent beard, it was as patchy as a lawn in summer.
During his sermon he preached the usual. Forgiveness, sinning and abstinence. I looked around the room, there was not a single person of colour, I never noticed that before.
Everyone faced the front and chewed up every word, digesting it and praising it. Sophia sat with her family, following along the bibles stories with their own personal collection of books.
