Back To You // T.K

Pearl

For the first time in months, I felt the need to pick up drugs again.
I had been sober for 5 full months, but I soon understood why I needed to take pills, sometimes, why I needed to escape my feelings.
The first thing I felt when I read the letter was guilt, - I felt guilty for what I knew I was about to feel: relief, maybe even happiness.
I was relieved that I didn't have to suffer because of my mother anymore, happy that she couldn't have ruined me again; but still, I felt guilty for all of it, and why?
Why did I feel like it was my fault?
Why did I feel like I could've given more, when all I ever did was lose myself in order to prove what I was worth to her?
Why did I feel like I gave up on her?

Because I did give up on her, rightfully so, but still a part of me wondered what it could've been, had she not died.
Maybe we could've mended our relationship, maybe she would've apologised, changed, and we could've been best friends, maybe she could've seen me in a white dress getting ready to be married, she could've seen me become a lawyer, she could've seen her grandkids.
Maybe, maybe, maybe.
Whatever it could have been, it didn't matter, she didn't matter anymore, - she was gone, and with her all my fantasies about a new beginning between me and her.
I still felt relieved, but a part of me was grieving someone who had never existed, - a fantasy of her being a loving, caring mother to me.
How do you grief, how do you get over someone who only lived in your head?
Being realistic wasn't my strongest asset, and I could've just painted my mother for who she was, - a narcissist, selfish, evil, abusive woman, - but that would've meant giving up on my fantasy of having a mother figure to guide me through the years, and I wasn't ready to do so.

I had been laying on Tom's bed all night without getting any sleep.
All the other rooms were occupied by Bill and Jocy in one, and Gustav and Georg in the other, so I had to sleep in Tom's room.
I offered to sleep on the couch, but he refused and went to sleep on it himself.
I hated him, I hated the way he kept on leaving whenever things got difficult, and most of all I hated the way he always came back and how he was the only one who knew exactly what to do and how to do it.
I just didn't understand it, if he was always aware of what needed to be done in order to get through things, then why did he leave?

'He's scared, perhaps', a voice in my head said, but I shook my head.

'What would he be scared of? I always proved that I loved him', I said to myself.

'He's scared of processing his feelings, that's why he's so good with yours. He's scared of his own thoughts and of his own heart, he's scared of what he would do to make you happy', the voice replied.

'You make it seem like a fairytale', I said, to which, obviously, no one replied.

'Great, now I'm talking to myself.'

Since I figured I wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, I decided to go downstairs to smoke, maybe it would've given me the clarity I so desperately needed, - I hadn't smoke weed in a while, but I still had some from a few weeks ago.
Once I arrived in the living room, I saw Tom's shaking body laying on the couch.
It was freezing cold and his blanket fell on the floor; on top of that, he had the bad habit of sleeping shirtless no matter the weather outside, so of course he was trembling.
Sighing, I walked around the sofa and took the blanket from the ground to put it on top of his body, but apparently it wasn't enough and he was still shaking.
I looked around me and found another bigger blanket on a chair, so I took that one and also put it on top of him.
He turned his head towards me but didn't open his eyes, as he got used to the heat and softness of the blankets.
Once I made sure he was comfortable enough to fall back asleep, I took one of his hoodie he left on the chairs, put it on and opened the glass doors that led to the garden.
I sat on one of the chairs and looked up at the sky, - it was full of stars, their light reflecting on the water of the pool in front of me.
It was strange how quiet and peaceful the world looked at night time, almost as if the day wasn't real, if everything that happened during the daylight was plain imagination, and the real life came out once the moon was shining bright up in the sky.