Bleeding Hearts

six

for ev, because tbh she's been my  A1 since day 1 and her writing never fails to impress me ❤️

SIX:

On Sunday morning when I awake, the world feels slightly more cruel than usual. As I slowly sit up and rub my eyes, it dawns on me just how tired I still am from Friday and Ford—mostly Ford. The day after he left I spent most of it in my bed, sobbing my eyes out over a boy that I knew than and that I know now is officially out of my hands. Him saying goodbye was not just for the night—it was forever. Ford is finally realizing how much better off he is without me, and even though I knew this all along it seems to just now be sinking in. It's like the knife was sitting in my chest, but all Ford had to do was shove it a little harder and now I'm slowly bleeding out.

My phone buzzes from my bedside table and I check it, only to see that's it's another missed call from Kendra. In the past two days she's left me thirty call and ten voicemails, each and every one of them unanswered and not yet listened to. I'm not in the state of mind to speak to Kendra yet, at least I think so, and I know that as soon as I do that it'll just be another mama-bear scolding that will only make me even more emotional than I already am. And right now, I just don't want that.

I put my phone on airplane mode and then tuck it underneath my pillow before throwing off my covers and sliding off of my bed. When I pass my mirror I notice that my hair is a complete and total mess, but instead of stopping and caring I just keep on walking. I head out of my room and down the staircase until I reach the kitchen where both of my parents are busy doing their own thing. My dad is cooking breakfast in his pajamas and my mom is in her pantsuit reading the newspaper while drinking a cup of dark coffee. When they see me, they both greet me in their separate ways.

"What's up with that?" Mom points to my hair.

"Hi, honey." Dad chirps happily.

"Hey guys." I sight tiredly, taking a seat across from my mom. "And as for this—" I point to my hair, "don't know, don't care."

"That's a load of bologna." Mom mumbles, not taking her eyes off of The New York Times. "You always care about how you look."

"What's the point anymore?" I wonder rhetorically. "I'm not trying to impress anyone, no ones trying to impress me. There's no point in combing my hair or showering—or really, even getting dressed."

"Now that's just bullshit." Mom sets her paper down and looks me up and down with eyes made of steel. "What the hell is wrong with you, Leah?"

Between my parents, my mother is definitely the tough one. She's the one who enforces discipline, works the longer hours and is brutally honest whenever possible. My father is sweet, caring, and has a knack for cooking that inspired him to open his very own restaurant—Oberlin's Finest. The name isn't very creative but the food is just to die for, and I've always loved the fact that he followed his dreams. Now though, as he sets down a steaming plate of sausage and pancakes I can't help but praise God for his wonderful cooking.

"Oh, calm down Gene." Dad swatted at mother, taking a seat beside me and reaching over to give mom her breakfast of egg whites, toast, and a strawberry banana smoothie. "She's just being a teenager."

"Yeah mom." I mumble into between bites of food. "Society expects me to claim adolescence as my excuse for depression—just go with it."