Clothed in our grief

Chapter Fifty Seven

  I want to thank each and every single one of you for taking time to read this, as i'm putting it out here for people to read. Thank you so much for all the kind comments, and constructive criticism! It means so much to me that some people leave their comments on stuff like this that I write :') I makes me actually feel like writing instead of thinking like the mentality of this being a daily thing that I have to do, not something that I want to do. I love writing, but I have my days just as I'm sure you may have yours. Thank you so much!
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The moment you had gotten out of the house, you grabbed a handful of change out of your coat pocket and got on the bus. You had shot Damian and Maps a text to meet up at the bookstore, apparently Damian was halfway there already. Which ultimately confused you, but he said it was because you weren't answering the landline at your house, and you hadn't opened his messages on messenger until now. He was planning on reaching you through Julian, apparently Damian had something urgent to share with you. Urgent enough for the fact that he'd already sent a text to Maps telling her to come about thirty minutes after she opens her message. How Damian is capable of planning everything out like that, you have no clue. you don't even know how you understand how he put it in words. He texts just as formally as he talks, sometimes it just gives you a headache. Other times? You're just thankful he doesn't text like Lea. In the form of memes. Never again do you want to wake up to Lea making her own memes and using Mason's face above words to talk to you. Dark times, really it was.

Still unable to wear jeans, wearing a thick black skirt that goes just above your knees when you're standing. Legs wrapped up in ace bandage and a couple of band aids here and there, some minor discoloration on your legs even still from the burns. The bruises on your wrists that are slowly but surely fading are covered by the long black denim and leather sleeves of your jacket, unzipped while over a blue long sleeve T-shirt. Just the tips of your fingers sticking out from the sleeves, broken and cracked nails. Not like you can do anything about it right now.

The bus ride isn't long from your house to the street across the Bookstore. But it's long enough for you to shove your hands into your pockets and find a small tube of chapstick. It's been awhile since you've done anything like brush your hair on your own without having to have someone hold the brush for you. Nobody else is on the back of the bus where you're seated, so there's nobody there to stare at you as it takes more time than it should to put on chapstick. Holding it at a different angle, and using both hands to hold it without dropping it. Something that you're starting to get used to, is holding things with both your hands even though they're usually held with just fingers.

Rubbing your lips together, glad that they aren't dry and cracking like your nails. Looking at the small red chapstick tube in your hands, seeing the dark red tone of the wrapper and turning it so you can see what it's actually supposed to taste like. Some kind of knock off soda, probably a copy of Cola. Because it taste pretty stale, really. But hey, no dry lips. That's when your eyes focus on the faded print and you realize that it actually is cola, but the label has been washed to hell and back. almost like the tubes gone through the washing machine.

Then you think about the last time you wore this jacket, and the fact you found it in the dryer. Makes sense, but you totally just put washing machine chapstick on your mouth. Wincing while putting it back, the bus stops at the mark across the street. You push yourself off of the seat, hands in pockets. Legs still aching pretty bad, because you're really not supposed to be on your feet. And even so, you haven't been on your feet for very long. For a significant amount of time you practically stayed in your bed, Tim coming over to help you with school, Damian coming over to check up on you, Lea staying in your room by sleeping on the other side of your bed. You didn't really have much of a reason to leave your room unless it was to shower and such. So you've had time to heal up a bit, but obviously not enough. You have to use the railing to get down the stairs of the bus, and had to put your hand on the back of your seat to make sure you didn't fall over down the aisle.