Peroxide (Peterick)

Epilogue

Throughout all of this tumult, I'm back where I started this journey — out on the streets of Newark, New Jersey on my way to the familiar coffee shop who has always hosted me and my pills with no questions asked, and I like it that way, because it offers a reprieve from the constant mourning I've endured in the past two months, and I don't have to feel guilty about taking care of myself.

I haven't visited this place since the day after Pete and I confessed to our difficulties with simply surviving, and now this store represents much more than it had previously because of it, as we made it through the night without falling out of line with one another, and we even managed to share time afterwards.

However, Pete is gone, and the coffee shop only serves as a reminder of him, cold and nostalgic and completely unaware of what it's doing to me, what it's paining me with, but I'm going anyway, because Dr. Saporta, now unfortunately my father, is requiring me to do so. Apparently it's not normal to drink hydrogen peroxide, at least not on purpose, and after disobeying my psychologist's laws, I'm being forced to consume more and more medication each time I step out of my boundaries and challenge the institution that's molding me into this monster, this robot of a being, and I personally don't think that's fair to me or to anyone who believes in morality, but where are they now? Not defending me from these horrors, but I suppose it's not their job to defend me anyway. They prefer to wear the invisible badge.

It's ironic how I tried to end my life with the same thing that saved it, but irony is a sweet suicide that's always been just within my grasp, so I snagged it deftly and claimed it for my own, and in that moment, I didn't really care what I was doing, so shit was bound to happen.

Except I failed my mission, and I've been alive for agonizing days without medication, and when I began to express my hatred for everything, Dr. Saporta only interpreted it as a sign to put me back on those blasphemous pills, so I'm back in that coffee shop with ambiguous intentions, and I'm abhorring every moment.

"May I take your order?" a person cries.

Every sign points me towards the exit, but the man's voice is too arresting to deny the fact that I want to stay longer, even ambivalently, and I cautiously shuffle towards the counter to meet the person calling me, a shy smile grooming my face.

It's that same Indus River head of locks that I fell in love with a few weeks back, and it's the same Indus River head of locks that I'm falling in love with right now, over and over again like a continuous cycle, and it's the only cycle that never grows monotonous after repetition. I am fully cognizant of his enchantment, and I am fully cognizant that I can't resist it.

"Yes, thank you." I scan the options for complex coffees and hot chocolates and everything in between like I always do, but the abrupt inspiration for a variegated selection disports my decision, and a familiar choice finds its way towards me. "I'll have a pumpkin spice latte please."

A bemused smirk dices the worker's lips, but he nevertheless hurries to his work on the coffee machine, a cup hover over the entrance as he comments, "I didn't take you to be a white girl."

"No." I shake my head, tuning a smile to the floor and then flicking my eyes back towards him. "It's for a friend."

~~~~~

A/N: this is it I'm fucking done

have a nice life I'm outta here

current vibe: you fuckers who stayed around til the end like wtf

~Dakota