The Summer Job | g.d

45 • Catalyst

45 • Catalyst

One Day Later

Fuck me and my life.

I thought I could pull myself out of this shithole yesterday but here I am, unwilling to get up and unwilling to move on. I felt inspired yesterday after my breakdown. Sure I sat in the shower for twenty minutes too long and I cried more water than what was being drained on my head but I felt like I could get out of this.

Then I got back into my bed. My sanctuary. And I wrapped myself up in the covers again and I felt safe and no I remain here. Unmoving. I wanted to get some chips as I felt my stomach rumble a couple of hours ago but my legs, nor my mind will work.

I have connected myself back to the web though, that's a plus. I guess I am moving forward one step at a time. But it's been a whole week and I'm still in bed.

Pretty pathetic, I know.

What can I say? I love the attention... Well, that's what most people would say. That I just want to be coddled and loved. To get everyone's sympathy as the girl who was molested. The girl who grew up to be a slut. A dropkick. A drunk. A drug addict. A smoker. A lover. And then a loser.A disgrace. A fragile gem. A lost cause. A runaway.

I embodied every aspect of everything that little girl hated it. I was violent. Sexual. Loud. Scary. Obnoxious. I wouldn't have wanted this. I would've looked at myself and been disgraced.

What am I doing?

What the fuck am I doing?

I look up at the clock on the wall. It's only eleven am. I didn't sleep again last night but that seems to be the usual nowadays. It's more like an on and off switch, sleep for half an hour, awake for a couple hours then asleep again for fifteen minutes. It fluctuates.

I rub my feet together under the blanket, double checking if they are still there. As I lay down, my body goes numb. It's like the outside world shuts off and it's just me and my bed. My feet at the end and my head lowered on the askew pillow. The pillow that has to be fluffed every five minutes as my heavy head as worn it out with it's constant use.

I get this sense of belonging in bed. This sense that I'm protected on all sides by my large covers. A warm, dry, safe place for me. I could stay in here forever.

But I know I can't. I shake myself back to reality and try to put my mind back to what I have been thinking about.

I need a catalyst. Something to get me up and out. I need some big event to come up that I have to go to. Or I am suddenly rushed into a huge conspiracy plot that has the lives of the world in my hands and I have to chase down a code in order to call off the nuclear bombings of every major city.

I think I've been watching too many action movies.

All I need is a motive. A purpose. Something. Anything.

Ding.

My phone rings from my bedside table, suddenly alerting me. My eyes glance over and I contemplate staying here and leaving it. But a small ounce of curiosity allows me to roll over and grab it from my bedside table.

My eyes widen as I read the message.

I know you too well, Clarke. Something is up and I don't want you to feel like I have ditched you... I've been thinking about you a lot...

-Grayson

I sigh, not knowing what to think. Part of me wants to apologise and tell him that I was wrong to ignore him and tell him the truth. The whole truth. But another part of me wants to leave it and let him go. Like I had decided.