Before The Sunrise

deserved

I wake up with the worst migraine I've ever had. I think that about every one that I get but this time I think it might be true.

Usually the pain pulses in and out of my right temple, radiating across my eye. Now it's somehow alternating sides, so even though I'm frozen with the pain I feel somehow seasick, like I'm rocking back and forth unsteadily. It pulses in my forehead and my face and my jaw, like someone's plunging a knife into my eye. My stomach's churning but I can't even throw up because the pain is so all-encompassing that I can't move to reach the triple-lined trash can a foot away on the floor. I want to cry, but instead my eyes just burn.

Unable to do anything to relieve the pain, I just lay there, curled in the fetal position and praying for unconsciousness.

* * *

Sometime in the quiet, early-morning hours, the pain fades. Minimally. So now I'm sitting on the couch in the dark, Annabelle in my lap, fighting to keep down crackers.

I'm trying not to let on how terrified I am. The headache came out of nowhere, with no obvious trigger. It was twice as long as they usually are, and significantly worse. And I don't know why.

I feel like crying again, but my eyes just throb dully. The stabbing knife sensation has faded, but the pain won't fucking stop. That's not normal either.

Mr. and Mrs. Bradford sit quietly together on the loveseat, trying not to crowd me. The twins are at his parents' for the night because I was still crippled with pain by the time they were getting done at school. Mia and Isabella can't even sleep in their own house because I'm so fucked up.

They're whispering to each other, debating whether bringing me to the doctor tomorrow would be worth it at this point, or if they should wait till next week. They think injectable medicine might be better so I don't have to worry about keeping it down.

I don't want to go back to another doctor. I'm fucking sick of doctor's offices, of being dismissed because I can't talk, of people making weird faces at the sight of Bradford and me together.

I'm tired of being such a burden on everyone around me. I'm tired of the burden on my shoulders, too. When does it stop? When does the pain end?

I just wanted to stop feeling, to stop remembering, to stop pretending. I wanted to think I was dead inside, soulless, emotionless, lifeless. And yet I'm the same person I've always been. Too sensitive. Too quiet. Too broken. I just wanted it to stop.

Why do my parents get to let go?

Bradford and his wife don't notice the tremors racking my body in the dark.

* * *

Even though I'm exhausted, I can't go back to sleep, so I open my texts even though the screen hurts my eyes. DeAndre was freaking out around midnight because I hadn't answered him all day, so I give him a sign of life and reassure him that he hasn't given me the flu.

I have one unopened message from Rosie.

Even though I reached out first, I briefly consider deleting the text without reading it. In the end, the need for answers wins out.

james, i'll always care about you, but i'm sorry, i don't think that's a good idea

I read the short text once, twice, five times, hoping I've misunderstood it. When it's clear the words won't change, my throat tightens, and searing pain shoots through my stomach.

Something's not adding up. I pull out Beth's notebook and start writing, wondering if seeing it on paper will help me make sense of it.

I don't understand. What did I do wrong? If she's mad at DeAndre, fine, but I didn't think she was the kind of person to bail on a friend once they're not easy to be around anymore.