Again

Chapter 4: Cecilia

"It's only a block away from the theater, CeCe, we could just drop in and say 'hi', there's no harm in that!"

No.

"I don't want to see him."

Truth.

"Why not?"

This is my best friend, the one person besides me who knows everything my life has been since Harry left. If that doesn't tell her why I don't want to see him, I'm not sure how I can ever make her understand.

"Kick, I just don't fucking want to see him...I don't want him to see me like this."

I gesture to my face and my clothes. Usually I don't give a shit what people think of my piercings or my style of dress; I like it so fuck them. But Harry used to call me all sorts of sweet nicknames and make me feel like a proper little princess because I was a proper little princess back then. I can't let him see how far away from that I've gotten. I also can't bring myself to say all the words it would take to coherently explain that to Kick. But she knows me well enough that I don't have to.

"Oh, CeCe." She reaches out to touch my arm, I pull away. "You're still beautiful. You're still the same."

"Stop saying that! It's a lie and we both know it. Just stop talking about it because I can't with this shit...I just fucking cannot. I'm not fucking able to deal with this shit at all. Please."

I run my tongue over my lip ring and slowly tug at it with my teeth. My eyes are glued to the ground but I can feel Kick staring at me. My insides feel warm with embarrassment and I bite at my nails again.

"Okay. I'll drop it."

"Thank you."

I mutter as we start to walk again. I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans and wish to God that I could just be normal for five minutes...or at least drunk.

 If I were drunk I'd be on my way to that tattoo parlor right now.

Kick leaves right after the movie and a long long hug and a bunch of kisses on my forehead. She's something between a sister and a grandmother with all that shit. I pulled away, irritated by the affection, neither the awkwardness or the love lost on me. She hurried off to a late afternoon class, I decided to stroll around Times Square.

My phone goes off as I stand on the sidewalk. I lean against a lamppost and try to avoid errant tourists as I read the text:

Mom wants to know about Thanksgiving. Just giving you a heads up. I won't say yes or no until we talk tonight. Love you.

I read it over and over again. It's like the universe wants me to go slice my arm a few times and drown my sorrows in vodka, with all the shit it keeps dumping on me...but I'm stronger than that. I'm stronger than the universe...Or am I just batshit crazy for real?

I don't get a chance to figure it out. One of those deranged lunatics on a bike comes flying down the street in a neon blur. The last thing I remember is the force of the bike against my body winding me and leaving my mind blank.

And knocking me flat on my ass. 

"It was an accident man!"

"You could have killed her!"

"Come on man; that's my bike!"

"Get the fuck out of here before I murder you." My eyes open slowly, I hear myself groan; the pain is terrible. A figure stoops to my side, everything is blurry, all I see are shapes colors and skewed outlines. "Cilly. Cilly, Baby can you hear me?"

"What the fuck, Haz?"

My voice is slow and groggy, I'm mumbling more than speaking. I'm hallucinating, I have to be, but at the moment I literally could care less. As I let my mind go black again, I'm grateful to the stranger I've somehow transformed into my high school sweetheart for letting me hold his hand. I hope someone calls an ambulance. I hear that deep English accent faintly, even though I'm basically unconscious.