The Road Less Traveled

Day Seven

Song: Better Days by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

"For sweet tomorrow, she never fell from grace. We might still know sorrow, but we got better days."

Noelle

My eyes shoot open and for a moment in time, I forget where I am. I'm not at home, I am not in my bed at the North Carolina Psychiatric Care Facility, and I am definitely not on the beach where I woke up yesterday. But one thing I do know; I am on fire.

I look around at my surroundings and I finally recognize where I reside... The hotel in Arizona, though I'm not quite sure where in Arizona we are.

Asher's arm is draped around me, my backside to his front, and I know for sure that this is not how we both fell asleep. I seem to remember us being on separate sides of the bed, but now I am on his side, his back to the wall. I wiggle from beneath his arm and slowly creep my way out of the bed. After walking over to the window, I peak through the curtain and the sun is just about to rise, so it must be a little before 7 o'clock. I slept through the entire night.

I slept through the entire night. That hasn't happened in at least three years. I can only think of maybe a handful of nights that I haven't woken up sometime between 2am and 5am, last night being one of them. I feel.... refreshed.

I grab the room key from off the dresser and walk down to the lobby to grab some coffee and a pile of brochures from the display and sit on a little outdoor patio area. The sky above me is pinkish orange and I think to myself how cliche sunrises are, but damn, are they something incredible. I sip my coffee and appreciate the sunrise for a little while longer and then make my way up to the room.

Asher still sleeps soundly in the same position and I would hate myself for the rest of the day if I were to wake him. We have no where to be anyways. So, I set a cup of coffee next to him on the nightstand and shut myself in the bathroom.

My hair is a disheveled mess, but what else is new? I learned to embrace my unorderly hair because there are better things to worry about rather than how straight or how not straight my hair is. Nine months in the loony bin without a hair dryer or any access to hair taming products really changes a person. Or maybe it just makes you realize how much hair doesn't really matter.

After turning the faucet on in the shower, I look to the mirror and run my fingers through my tangles, pushing them all over one shoulder. I rip my t-shirt over my head and step into the shower letting the stream of hot water wash away the dried sweat from Asher's scorching hold that I woke up in.

I think back to the fact of how I slept through the entire night. Most every night since my mother died, I have been ripped from sleep by Henley crawling into my bed, or nightmares, or invasive thoughts, anything that obstructed my rest. But last night was so different. I felt comfortable and safe and at ease with everything that was going on. Not once did I panic about the fact that Asher and I ran away on a limb to the other side of the country. Not once did I have a flashback of my abandonment at the mental hospital. I didn't even think of the absence of my mother. Not once did I feel an ounce of discomfort or apprehensiveness. Sleeping next to Asher was something of a novelty to me and I never would have assumed that sleeping next to someone would make any difference. Sure, I crawled into bed with my dad a few times after my mom died and before Lorelei moved in, but those nights were short lived and even still I wouldn't sleep through the night.

I shake my head in wonder and finish rinsing my hair then turn the faucet off and push the shower curtain open. The mirror is fogged over and I thank some higher power that I cannot see my reflection. I know I am too thin. I know that my eyes look too big for my face. I know that I'm not happy with myself just yet. So I don't want to see myself, though sometimes I find myself looking and criticizing each flaw even when I don't want to. The fogged mirror is a blessing in disguise.