Mixtapes & Polaroids | Sam x Deena

54

A lot of the time, coping looks different.

It's never a clear, linear path. It's not a process you can jot down or number, not a road that goes in a straight line through suddenly sunny fields. Sometimes you understand, and sometimes you don't. A lot of people don't talk about how coping— it isn't really up to you. Sometimes you find yourself in places, with people, doing things you'd never have done if you didn't have all this pain in your chest.

The good ones, the ones who still have a little glimmer of hope that things will get better— they take a more traditional road. Support groups and crying on the couch, healthy isolation, maybe even meditation— not that it's any less painful but at least it isn't as destructive.

There are darker ways, ways for people who aren't actually trying to get better. They tell their friends and family that they are, that they're working on it, that they're totally fine but in the back of their minds— they've given up the moment their heart breaks. To them, there is no after. To them, there is no better. Just floating through time, all empty and hollow, doing everything in their power to drown it out.

Some find more permanent ways to escape.

But others, they turn to things that bury their pain— with even more destruction. Drugs, sex, alcohol— because it's the only way they don't feel like themselves. It's the only way they can exist, that they can breathe and function without the crippling hatred of their whole and entire being. The only way to get through the day without overcast shadows and screaming voices in their heads. Maybe it's a disease, some say it's a choice, but all it really is— is pain that not even time could heal. Stains that'll never wash away, dents and scratches that can never be fixed.

And that kind of permanence— can kill you.

"You sure you can drive?" Simon asks as they all tread to Kate's car, which she insisted on taking instead of Deena's. They've had more drinks than they'd like to admit— or at least Kate did.

The tension never did get better, and Deena has barely said a word. It didn't feel like Kate, it was almost like she was someone else— wearing the face of Deena's best friend. Like every bit of who Kate used to be was scooped up by rush and uncertainty, all reckless adrenaline and barely genuine laughter and oh so empty smiles. Deena doesn't know if she feels sick— or guilty, or maybe both.

"I am perfect—ly fine." She chuckles, swirling the car keys at the base of her finger as she swings the door open and nearly stumbles in the process. The rest exchange a worried look, with Deena taking a breath as she joins Kate at the other side of the car, hovering like a timid child.

"I can drive if you want—" Deena begins softly, a lingering hand on Kate's back that barely touches— like any form of contact would burn them into oblivion.

"You'd already be in my seat if I wanted you there." Kate doesn't miss a beat in cutting her off, sharp words that Deena would have shrugged off as her usual pointed demeanor before but this time it cut through.

Deena stands there, pained eyes hiding behind barely stable containment, hand dropping to her side as she takes a step back to reel in her sinking heart. Kate doesn't notice— or she doesn't care to at the moment. All she feels is the buzz in her head, and the pain drowning at the bottom of her stomach. All she cares about is that she can breathe for a while, that she's not in chains, that she can fool herself into thinking she hasn't lost anything at all.

"Everyone just settle down, relax— try to have a good night." Is what Kate says, messily scrambling into the driver's seat as Simon reluctantly climbs into passenger, while Sam and Deena meet in the backseat.

Sam almost hates that Deena was an open book when her heart was broken, her eyes screamed from torturous agony and all Sam can do is watch her cower even more. She makes sure to sit as close as possible to Deena, slipping her hand and intertwining their fingers almost as if to wordlessly say that things were going to be okay but Deena's grip is loose and weak, breathing shallow like she was choking back tears. Sam watches all their progress slip away in one night— and it hurts her just as much.