LEFT BEHIND | Scarlett Johansson x Daughter.

CHAPTER 65 - old t-shirts.

The day after my relapse was awful. It was the whole process of trying to remember that I didn't need drugs to be okay. That I am okay without them. It wasn't as bad as the withdrawal in rehab, nowhere near. I didn't feel sick, or anything like that; it was more of a mentally taxing thing. My brain knew I had done drugs and just demanded more to help my mood.

It was learning all over again.

Part of me even thought about talking to Mom about going back to rehab, telling her I was not ready to be back home and in this environment. But I also didn't want that. Yes, rehab helped massively, it did. But when I was there all I wanted was to come home. 

And I am ready to be home, I'm ready to be here. I just wasn't ready to go back to school. And I don't think I will be ready if that girl is still there, not even just that but being around everyone who watched me get worse and didn't try to help...I don't know. 

I need to breathe, but now I have ruined the chance to be able to breathe. Mom is going to be down my neck watching my every move which I understand but I need to be alone. 

I haven't left my bed yet. It's 1:27pm, and mom has been in my room a total of 21 times since she woke me up at 11am. Half the time she hasn't even said anything, she has just walked into the room and sat on my bed and stared at me. I guess we both don't know what to say. 

Because really what can be said? 

I've done what I've done. 

I can't change that. 

But when she finally comes into my room for the 22nd time, I can't help but be annoyed.

"You know you have come into my room 22 times in 2 and a half hours right?" I grunt as I sit up, her movements stopping as she stands in the middle of my room. 

"What? No I haven't. You're over exaggerating." She replies with an eyerole and makes her way fully towards my bed, dropping down next to me and laying down. 

"I'm not. If I was over exaggerating then I would have said a higher number. I wouldn't have been so specific. So, what do you want?" I huff laying back down but turning over so my back is too her. 

I don't want to look at her. I already feel shitty for what I have done, I hate myself enough and I don't need her eyes telling so many stories making me feel worse too. 

"JJ...I'm just, I'm worried." 

"Yeah, well you don't need to be. I'm fine, I'm brilliant." I bluntly reply while pulling the covers up over my head to avoid her even more. 

"JJ, can we both be serious for just one minute? Come out from under the covers and sit up." I begrudgingly do what she asks, I don't want to argue and this will cause an argument. But I know that when I talk, she will listen, she promised.

"I'm allowed to be worried. You're my daughter, I always worry about you even when you are okay. But right now, I know you are not, so I need you to tell me what you need, what you want so I can help you." Moms hand touches my cheek, her hand wiping under my eye as a tear falls. 

"I want to be alone, but I also don't want to be. I want to be here, but I also don't want to be. And I don't want your pity, I don't want it. Because it makes me feel worse. I know I have fucked up, I know that, so I don't need to be reminded of it when I look at you or dad. I need to move on, so right now for myself, I want and need to wallow in self pity before I can get myself back up and carry on." I breathe, I finally breathe. It felt nice getting it out. 

"Do you want to go away? Get away from home for a few weeks? or months? I'm, I'm just trying to figure out how we can help you JJ." Moms hand doesn't leave my cheek, my head leaning further into her letting her know I'm okay with the contact still.