Back To You // T.K

Pearl

It had been a couple of days since I read my father's letter, and I spent all my time at Tom's place, locked in his room, sleeping.
For a few instants I thought I would've gotten over it pretty easily, - turns out I was just lying to myself.
The same questions I had when I read the letter repeated themselves in my head over and over again without giving me a break: sleeping was the only way to block the pain and guilt away.
I didn't know any other way, and I didn't know if I wanted to know any other way, - maybe I didn't want a way out, maybe I didn't want to figure out what to do to feel better.
I wasn't eating or drinking on my own, the only times I actually ate a meal was because Tom spoon-fed me every few hours, but even then I never finished the plate.
I felt ashamed of myself and for the way everyone was treating me, like I was a child or a bomb ready to explode at any minute.
A few months ago I would've probably drowned in pills and overdose again, but I was a completely different person now, - for better or for worse I still didn't know.

That day I woke up quite early, but Tom was already up and he wasn't in bed with me.
I still hadn't forgiven him, but I appreciated what he was doing for me, - feeding me, washing my hair when I didn't have the strength to stand, and he even postponed the show the band was supposed to have for that Friday.
I wished I could've gone back to sleep, but I spent a total of maybe 4 hours awake in those two days, and no matter what I did I couldn't fall back asleep.
The house was silent, except for the noise of the coffee machine downstairs.
I slowly got out of bed and made my way into the living room, carefully avoiding every mirror, - I couldn't stand to look at my dead face anymore: I didn't feel like myself, - my hair was dirty, once again, my skin pale and my eyes barely opened.

When I went downstairs, I found Tom sitting on the couch with his phone glued to his ear, while he talked to someone.

'Yeah, I know', he said, 'but I can't do anything about that anymore.'

A pause, and then he talked again: 'we didn't cancel the show, we just moved it to next week, I don't see what the problem is.'

He rubbed his face with his hand and sighed, while he massaged his temples.

'Yeah well, it's done now. I can't and I won't leave her here, we'll refund the tickets if we need to. End of story.'

With that said, he hung up and threw the phone on the coffee table.
He leaned back on the couch and sipped on his coffee, but I could've told he was stressed and probably pissed at whoever he was talking to.
I walked up to him and put my hands on his shoulders as I started to massage them, - he already done so much for me in just a couple of days, and I wanted to do something for him too, no matter how meaningless it could've seemed.

When he felt my hands touching him, he suddenly jumped, but when he turned around and saw me his expression relaxed.
He lifted one of my hands from his shoulders and brought it to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles.

'You scared the shit out of me', he smiled, and pointed to the seat next to me.
I followed his orders and sat down, laying my head on his shoulder.

'You're awake', he said, kissing the top of my head, 'it's early.'

'I don't think I can sleep anymore', I sighed and closed my eyes.

'Well, in that case', he said as he stood up from the couch.
He walked to the fridge and took a bowl of yogurt with some fruit on it.

'I'm not hungry', I said, but he shook his head.
He walked back to the couch and sat next to me, the yogurt and a spoon ready in his hands.

'You haven't eaten a thing since yesterday morning', he insisted, 'you have to eat something baby, or you'll get sick.'