The Coffee Shop On Dreary Lane

Embry

  Sometimes I don't recognize myself in the mirror.  It's a tiring idea that I don't stick on for long.  It's fucking tiring.  Today I am that way, and I'm trying to get over it.  Today I have to escape this place.  Being here is shitty at worst and slightly comfortable at best.
  I've forgotten to eat lunch multiple times, and now there's someone else here.  Jackie.  Her presence is annoying.  She opened the door to this section of whatever the fuck this place is the other day and walked right in happily.  How could you be happy here?
  Reagan has made my days better.  They're easy to be around.  It's not as nerve-wracking to talk to them as it used to be.  My stomach used to flip every time I saw them.  Not anymore.  If I had to describe that in one word it would be: good.
  Dixie is like a worker bee buzzing around.  I saw her this morning, and all she's doing is buzz buzz, gotta get this for Mr. Fletch, gotta get that for Mr. Fletch'.

Reagan told me we had to carefully plan our escape instead of jumping on impulses, even if they are their impulses. So we're running in the middle of tonight. I can't wait until we get out, but I don't have the energy.
  Currently I'm just sitting in this room.  It's my room now, but it's so plain.  Gray walls and no windows.  A bed in the back center that I am sitting on.
   "Cycloth...  Cyco.  What the heck is it called?"  I mutter.
  "Cyclothymia," I jump as Reagan shouts from in front of the door.  Somewhere in the kitchen probably.
  "Oh."
   "It's getting dark, we should leave soon," Reagan whispers, moving forward, close to my face.  My heart is pounding.  I move my face back.  Reagan looks offended by this.  I don't understand.
   "I feel like shit," I tell them.
    "Okay."
     They leave after saying this.  My heart sinks.  Did I do something wrong?