Stitching Wounds and Breaking Hearts (Lesbian Story)

Step 2: Adapt

Lacey

It's been three days since Devon and I had sex. The weekend came and went, leaving me with a shitty nicotine headache and an ache between my legs. An ache that re-introduces itself when I roll out of bed and my feet meet the unforgivingly cold hardwood floor.  I lift my body so that I'm standing finally and whilst slightly swaying, I find the energy deep within me to take a step. Cool 5 am air dances past my partly opened French doors. My too-warm body screams at me to take another step towards the refreshing blanket of once-in-a-lifetime 63-degree Texas air.

As my body draws nearer to the balcony, my feet hit a soft rectangle of cardboard, a sharp contrast from the hardwood floor and my movements stop. I don't look. I don't have to. I know the feeling of that box without having to angle my head or line of sight in the slightest. Instead, my body acts on instinct. In a single motion, the last cigarette from the pack is retrieved and being lit by my hand. I can't tell you where the lighter came from because I honestly have no clue. It's almost as if the universe materialized this little plastic igniter out of spite to my family who always hid fire starters from me like it was their god-given-right.

It's too early for any of my nosy neighbors to report my actions to my still-absent parents so I find myself savoring my cancerous breakfast. Unfortunately, no amount of savoring could stop the tobacco from burning all the way down to the filter. So all too soon my cigarette is gone and I'm left with a grubby orange filter poking its way past my manicured fingers. Rearing its ugly orange head as a reminder to me that I'm never going to be good enough for Carter without a nicotine buzz and tobacco breath.

I heave a sigh, pushing as much of my frustration out of my body in a single breath as possible, and throw the filter over the balcony. Slowly the ugly orange nub flitters out of view and lands on the fine gravel of my circle driveway. I scoff, thankful that the lawn guys are coming by today, and turn on my heel back into my room. Once my left foot crossed back onto the hardwood floor, it was as if my life began again. As if the cigarette had provided a literal pause on my problems and coming back into my room re-started the tape.

And boy did that tape have a lot on it.

My left foot hit the hardwood floor and my phone lit up with messages, a strange occurrence considering I was the newest and least interesting kid at Dalton High. My phone continued to go off and my alarm quickly followed suit. I grabbed my phone and moved to shut off my alarm, unfortunately, I was only granted a moment of silent since my doorbell rang. I scrolled through my notifications as I traversed downstairs, surprised to see a handful of text messages from Daisy asking where I was this weekend and if I wanted to join a group chat of hers.

I absent-mindedly open my front door, completely unaware of what I was (or wasn't in this case) wearing or doing. It could have been a murderer or a Jehovah's witness and there I was, completely pants/panty-less inviting them into my house. Hell, I wasn't even sure if I was wearing a bra.

"Hell- oh. um. bad time?" I looked up, startled at the new voice invading my confusion.

There, in all of her pink glory, stood Daisy.

I lifted my phone and showed the screen to her, allowing her into my house, before shutting the door behind her.

"I'm confused...why are you showing me my text messages" she questioned, handing my phone back.

"Not one of those messages said you were coming by this morning." I quipped, folding my arms over my chest.

Before she could respond, I turned on my heel and climbed back upstairs.

"I figured you'd like a surprise, and I didn't want to wait around for you to keep ignoring my messages." She fires back, following behind me.

Little did I know that Daisy would always be a follower...never a leader. Come to think of it, the only thing I could rely on her to do was to follow.