From the Other Side of My Bed

1. Modern Day

I'm dusting away my life over these dirty bookshelves.
I swear I dusted them off last time but they're back at it again, being dirty.
And that's not the worst part.
I look around and watch disappointed how much of a mess is my home.
Correction!
How much of a landfill it is.
There's trash everywhere, empty bottles of water and alcohol lay in the living room, thousands of shopping bags are around, either on the floor or the sofa, even my dirty clothes are here, scattered through the living room and my kitchen. I sighed.
"This is all my fault." I want to sit down but there's little time for me to do that.
Rixxon is coming over.
And he cannot see this.
He cannot see what lies behind that pretty face of mine, he cannot find out that I just had a depressive episode. I throw away the duster and walk toward the kitchen counter.
Ugh, the counter.
It's covered in coffee grains and orange juice stains, and the sink next to it is filled with dirty dishes and my painting brushes had made the water into a weird hue of green. I reluctantly grab a black trash bag and start to grab the trash and put it inside the bag. I slowly make my way from the kitchen to the living room, filling in the bag, then when it's full, I tie it and throw it next to the door. I repeat and when the living room is cleared of trash, I walk over to my room and look around, disappointed that I still have trash in my room.
I walk back to the kitchen to grab a bag when my phone rings.
I let it ring and ring, until it goes to voicemail.
I don't have time for anyone right now, I gotta finish here.
My phone rings again and frustrated, I grab it and answer.
"Whoever is this, I ain't got time for you."
"Damn," I hear Jerome saying out loud from the other side of the line.
"What do you want? I'm cleaning over here."
"Finally, that place reeks."
I frown. "And so is your mouth, asshole."
He giggles and I soften. "What happened?"
"Nothing, I just wanted to see what you were doing later so we could hang out."
I bit my lip, scratching my head as I walked side to side, not knowing how to tell him I have a guy over. "Mmh, I don't know. I think I'm going to stay in."
"Why?"
"I'm going through shit."
"Like?"
"Not your business, mister."
He sighed. "Fine, keep your secrets."
I will.
After a silence, I stay still for a bit and say. "Okay, bye."
"Bye."
We hung up at the same time and I awkwardly leaned back on the refrigerator's door with the phone pressing against my chest. I don't know why I cannot be honest with Jerome.
He has been my best friend for the past seven years and he knows me from head to toe. But then I know damn well why I don't tell him about guys coming over to see me.
Jerome has been in love with me for as long as I can remember.
I found out he was one day when i was doing his braids in the tile of my papa's living room. I noticed the way he looked at me with a spark in his eyes as my fingers wandered in that abundant black mane of his and I also saw how his hands grabbed tightly the sides of his pants.
Ever since that day, I noticed how uncomfortable he would get when hearing about all the guys I went out with and then slowly getting more possessive with me.
Plus no one who isnt in love with you goes through dangerous lengths to make sure you're doing fine like he does. But I often just shake off the idea that he only does things for me because he's in love and just stick to the fact that even though I am not in love with him, I still would go through hell to make sure he's fine, too.
I still wish I was more honest, trusting more the people that I love, but I just can't..
I don't want them to see what goes through in this apartment.
If not, they'll worry and bug me and that's the last thing someone with issues wants.
You just want to disappear into oblivion, to be forgotten.
I sighed and put the phone down.
I have to keep going.

After two hours of deep cleaning, vacuuming and intoxicating the air with a bunch of lavender and rose spray, I look around, and I find myself feeling proud but a bit worried.
"How long will this last?" I sighed.
I kept asking myself that for the past month.
How long will this pain last? How long will my brain burn with thousands of thoughts and voices, constant speaking and screaming at me for the minor inconvenience?
How long will I be stuck in this hell?