Relapse (Phan)

SIXTEEN

"Already?" I growled, snoozing the alarm of my phone. I rubbed my eyes and began to roll over when—"Ah!" I clutched my ribs as a sharp pain shot through my side. I slowly sat up, shivering as I got out of bed, the cold morning air hitting my bare chest. I trudged to the bathroom and stood over the sink for a minute, feeling the urge to be sick. I took a breath, steadying myself as I reached for my toothbrush, catching my reflection briefly in the mirror. I noted with a bit of a sickened laugh the way that the constellation of deep, purple bruises which covered my ribs complimented the bags under my eyes nicely. I shrugged it off, brushing my teeth and running my fingers through my hair a couple of times to straighten it out a little. I caught my own eye in the mirror and for a second I wondered how the hell I got here.

"You gave up," I mumbled, dragging myself away from the mirror and into the kitchen I flicked on the kettle and poured myself a large bowl of cereal before realizing—of course—there was no milk. Of course. I sighed, digging my hand into my bowl and putting a fistful of flakes into my mouth dry as I closed the refrigerator door in defeat.

It hadn't taken me long to recover from the glimmer of happiness which I'd felt over the past two months and return to the fucking mess that I had been prior. I went to classes, that was probably a good thing, and I worked long hours, but not because I cared about my education or my job, quite frankly. I was hiding. I was avoiding. Avoiding my family's calls because "Congratulations! Your son is a disappointment!" Avoiding Dan because my current boyfriend was a fucking psychopath and avoiding said current boyfriend for the same reason. Avoiding Dan had actually gotten a little easier over the last few weeks. I guess I wasn't the only one giving up these days. I couldn't say I was too choked up over him not calling every night though, especially since over the past month those calls had mainly resulted in more bruised ribs and aching stomachs, curtesy of my boyfriend-of-the-year.

I knew I was in deep with Jason. Deeper than I could handle. There were days, frequent days, when I wanted nothing more than to be out. To get out. I wanted to scream; to tell Paloma, Dan, a counselor, anyone; to beg; to fucking escape. But then the high would hit and the pills combined with the sex and Jason's hollow "I love you"s would make it seem like maybe everything wasn't so bad. But it was.

So bad.

I had one beacon of hope though. One beautiful, quickly approaching shimmer of happiness which hung on my fridge, keeping me sane.

Di and Andrea's wedding invitation.

A Christmas wedding was so cliché, I almost laughed thinking that Diana of all people would be having one, but I wasn't complaining. Three days. I only had to survive three more days and then I would be on a train to Manchester where, if only for a few weeks, I could escape.

***

"Phil?" Paloma placed a hand on my back, startling me awake.

"Huh?"

"Your shift ended 10 minutes ago," she said.

"Oh, did it?" I yawned, rubbing my eyes.

"Yeah. You can go home now," she smiled.

"Are you sure you don't need help closing tonight?" I asked, "It's only a couple of extra hours."

"You aren't really much help when you're asleep behind the counter are you?" shed teased. "Are you alright?"

"'M fine," I shrugged.

"I don't believe you," she informed me.

"Well I am," I said. She stared at me for a minute but then sighed, handing me my coat.