Paperboy. (h.s. au)

36.

I'm happy these days.

I wake up and I actually feel like getting out of bed. I can smile without feeling tired. I can carry on a normal conversation without spacing out. I go outside, I play with David, I see Harry, I'm hugging my mom again. I visit my dad, and I have an appetite.

I had a moment the other day when I was sitting outside on the front step. The sun had just come up, there was a breeze, and birds were singing their morning song. I shut my eyes for a moment and actually smiled, a real smile, at the serenity of the moment. This, I thought, is beautiful.

And then the letter came.

Harry didn't bring it the way I wished he would, but just a normal mail truck instead of a beautiful boy on a bike.

I stared at the envelope blankly, knowing full well what I would feel if I opened it. I take a deep breath and run my fingers along the edges.

I exhale sharply and spin it into the table, turning away and gritting my teeth. My mother's still asleep along with David, so I'm standing here alone, the beauty of the morning slowly dwindling. I look out the window in hopes that the good feeling I had earlier will come back. Nothing.

I suck in another deep breath and turn back to the table. I quickly snatch up the envelope and rip open the seam. I toss it into the table and stare down at the card in my hands.

"The honor of your presence is requested at the marriage of..."

I shudder and gently set the card down next to its envelope and run up to my room. I throw myself into my bed and bury my face into my pillow. I knew this was coming, so why is this still so disturbing to me? I couldn't stop what was to happen, so why can I accept it?

I lay on my bed, eyes squeezed shut, wondering why these things happen, and so inconveniently. Stacy was nice enough, why can't I just let it be?

The timing is never right.

All at once, slowly and steadily, I feel myself becoming engulfed by the familiar and sickening darkness that I've become so accustomed to. I grunt to myself in frustration and push myself up. What can I do, what can I do?

Frantically, I jog up and down the stairs in an attempt to clear my head, distract my mind from all of the bad thoughts. I call Harry. I'm met by the sound of his automatic voice mail. I listen to the sound of his voice, and this only helps until it's over. So I call again, listen again. I refrain from calling a third time so I won't worry him when he sees three missed calls from the problematic girl he willingly associates himself with. For whatever reason.

I throw my phone down on my bed and it bounces off and into the floor. I go to run down the stairs again and I'm met with my mother, a puzzled look on her face inches from mine. I stumble back a few steps so I'm not so close. I'm breathing heavily, I'm sure my hair is a wild mess, and my eyes are wide. Flustered, I do what I can to regain composure. I smooth down my frizzy hair and tuck it behind my ears.

"Care to explain why you've decided to start marathon training on our stairs at," she checks the clock in the hallway, "8:36 in the morning?" She raises her eyebrows and exhales slowly.

"Uh, I-"

"You what?"

Now that might be the worst thing someone can do to me. It's hard enough to maintain one solid thought as it is, but sure, go ahead and interrupt that process.

"Um," my voice is strained, quiet. The way it sounds before I start to cry. When I shouldn't be talking, but when someone always needs me to. "A letter came. It's on the table." I hate to be the one to tell my mom. I really do. I wouldn't know how it feels to receive a wedding invitation from your ex-husband. Yeah, it's been a while since they split. But I'm sure it came as big of a surprise to her as it did to me.