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Myra felt lost. Since the death of her father everything felt surreal. The only real thing in her life seemed to be her half empty pill bottle. The very same bottle that she held in her hand.
She refused to look at her reflection for fear of what she would see. She poured some of the pills into her hand. Without a second thought she put them in her mouth and swallowed them.
She loved not feeling. It distracted her from the grief that was fresh in her heart. It kept her minds away from whatever rumors circulated about her. She felt as if she was on cloud nine but it was all short-lived.
Michael hated seeing her in the state she was in. He tried to tell her to get help, but she had always refused. She said she didn't have a problem when, in fact, she did.
"Myra please," Michael begged once again when the kids had fallen asleep, "You need to get help."
"I'm fine," insisted Myra.
He held up the pill bottle. She had it refilled last week and it was already half empty.
"This was refilled last week, and it's already half empty. I'm asking because I love you and hate seeing you like this," Michael pleaded.
Michael knew Myra was stubborn. He just didn't know how much begging and pleading it took to get her to comply. He knew how her dad's death affected her, but there was always healthy ways of dealing with grief but clinging to painkillers wasn't one of them.
"I love you too, but I feel fine," Myra assured him.
"How many have you taken today?" Michael asked.
"Not many," shrugged Myra, "six."
"I'm throwing them away," decided Michael as he threw them in the trash, "You don't need them."
Myra didn't know why, but she got mad. She stayed outside, refusing to go inside. Michael kept trying to talk to her but she said nothing.
By the time night had begun to fall, Myra refused to go inside. She sat on the grass, leaned against a tree. She had fallen asleep, snuggled in her hoodie with the hood pulled over her.
He had already put the kids to sleep. He was the only one awake as he sat on the couch. He sat there, his mind wandering yet his eyes kept looking towards his wife.
Michael didn't want to leave her out there. He got up from the couch and went outside. He walked along the grass in the direction of sleeping Myra.
Carefully, he slid one arm under her knees while the other supported her top half. He carried her inside, careful to not knock her head against the door.
He put her in their bed and covered her with the blankets. She automatically snuggled into the pillow. Michael laid beside her, allowing himself to fall asleep.
When he had woke up the next morning, Myra was still asleep. She had even slept through Paris crying on the baby monitor. Carefully he left the bedroom and went to check on Prince and Paris.
To his surprise Prince was already awake. He played with his stuffed animal but stopped when he saw his dad. Michael lifted him up, carrying him into the living room with him.
Paris was the next one to wake up. Michael kept her propped up as Prince played with his toys. He kept cartoons on the tv which Prince had stopped to watch. He laughed along with Mickey Mouse as the mouse went on some sort of adventure.
Myra didn't wake up until ten. At first she was confused when she woke up in bed since she knew that wasn't where she had fallen asleep. She realized Michael must have carried her to bed.
The memories of the previous day had come flooding back. She remembered their conversation and how she had maybe overreacted. He had some good points but Myra hadn't wanted to listen.
After the feeling from the painkillers had long went away, she had begun thinking. She felt dependent on them, and she had seen from many other celebrities that that wasn't a good thing.
Her school had done programs that sent awareness on addiction. She had vowed to stay away from anything that would cause it, but there she was. She had forgotten all she had learned and had allowed it to happen to her.
She wanted help, but didn't know where to start.
Myra went downstairs slowly. She saw Michael showing Paris different shapes that she didn't quite understand. Prince watched cartoons while he attempted to speak along with them.
"Hey," Myra spoke up, catching his attention.
"Good morning," he wished as he greeted her.
"I thought about what you said yesterday," Myra began, "and I want help. I don't want to be like this."
"It's okay," Michael told her as he put Paris on the couch she she would fall over.
He held her in a hug. Her head rested on his chest, not wanting to let go. In that moment, for maybe even a brief moment, she thought that maybe everything would be okay.
