Tribulation [h.s]

28

"I think I found hell, I think I found something
I think I found something on my TV screen
I think I found out that I have nothing
That I have nothing in this place for me."

-

"That was you on the news, wasn't it?"

Sigh.

I just never catch a break.

It's two in the morning when I walk into my tiny apartment, dragging my feet with heavy-lidded eyes and a plastic bag hanging from my pointer and middle finger. I'm practically swallowed in the gray sweater and matching sweatpants Harry gave me. The clothes are baggy, so baggy they hide my frame, and the soft, oversized fabric brings me a small semblance of security.

The sweater, however, smells just like Harry. I try not to think about him too much.

Harry took my old clothes and burned them for all I knew. Frankly, I don't care what he did with my clothes either. He got rid of potentially criminating evidence against me, and that's all that matters.

Before I left his apartment, Harry told me was to stay out of sight – to keep my head low – and call him if anything happens. His words weren't exactly comforting, though. Honestly, they made me want to disappear for good.

Now, Julie stands before me, and maybe it's disbelief that swirls in her eyes, or perhaps it's worry and fear of the truth.

She asked me a question she already knew the answer to.

I'm too tired to come up with an excuse. Truthfully, I couldn't come up with an excuse even if I wasn't so exhausted. I couldn't lie to Julie with a gash on my head, frizzy hair, smeared makeup, baggy under eyes, the clothes I'm wearing – the clothes that I wasn't wearing when I left.

The melancholy is intense. So is the despair.

No words are shared – just shattered stares – and somehow, the answer to her question is found in the silence between us.

Yes. It was me.

"Listen, Julie. I don't want to fight with you right now- oh."

With my battered appearance, I thought that she'd lose her mind. But snarky remarks arent exchanged, and she doesn't yell or scream.

Instead, she hugs me, and she cries.

God, she cries with her whole body and nearly squeezes the life out of me. "Thank God, you're okay."

Well, this certainly wasn't the reaction I had been expecting.

Slowly, I let my arms wrap around her, and I squeeze her just as tight. I missed her. I missed her touch and comfort. I missed her touch. My body melts as I accept the affection – something I always struggled with. I rest my chin on her shoulder, and I can smell her strawberry shampoo and traces of her rosy perfume. She's never lacking in zeal, and I find myself closing my eyes and bathing in the warmth of her arms. When my eyes open and filter over to the living room, I see the TV playing softly, and a blanket is strewn across the couch cushions. She must have been lying down while watching the News.

She saw everything, didn't she?

I clench my jaw and squeeze her tighter. It hurts to pull away from her, but I do it anyway. I force a smile that I know looks barren and pathetic. Then, I walk away from her because I have something I need to do.

I trek to the bathroom and make sure to stay quiet so I don't wake Maggie up. I put the plastic bag down on the sink and grabbed the cardboard box inside the bag. Afterward, my tired eyes skim over the directions before I decidedly open the container.