indecisive (on hold)

2.

I emerge from the bathroom twenty minutes after my relief. I may feel relief, but it is only temporary. It will never last and I know that. That is why I hate it. The pain will never stay away. But, I refuse to think too much because that will cause me more stress. I will find another solution sooner or later...hopefully.

 ***

It was 7:36. I lay sprawled out on my bed, my stomach down, legs in the air, ankles crossed.  A book in my hands. My hair in a french braid. I am wearing pajama pants and a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up. My cuts hurt so I thought I’d let them breathe. I have my glasses on.  I love wearing my glasses. They are so comfortable. They are easier to hide behind. They are square, plain black, Ray Ban frames. Something simple. I don't really care for something dramatic. Simple, boring, and plain are the perfect adjectives to describe me.

My stomach makes a dying whale noise.

“Fuck. I’m hungry.” I whine.  “I don’t want to make anything though...whatever, I’m ordering pizza.”

I retrieve my laptop and go online to order my dinner. That was what I loved about this generation. You no longer had to call or leave your house to get pizza. You simply picked what you wanted and twenty minutes later it was brought right to you.

After I finish picking what I want, I wait. I pick up my book to continue reading, but every ten seconds or so I glance at my screen to see that the pizza is still being cooked.  After about twenty minutes of staring, the bar changes and now my pizza is on it way. I squeal with joy. I am so fucking hungry.

“Eating makes you fat,” whispers the little voice.

“Ha. I know that, but I think I'm aloud to eat. You've said enough to me for tonight. Fuck off. I’m hungry,” I scoff.

 I really don’t care right now. I am hungry and it’s pizza. I return to my book, soon becoming lost in the words on the pages.

“What a treacherous thing to believe that a person is more than a person.”   The words read.

I smile to myself. I love John Green. I had read almost all of his books. However, I hate how just because The Fault in Our Stars is a movie, everyone decided they would read it and be in love with him, too. I am hypocrite, but whatever. It is so mainstream. Tfios was my favorite book, I had read it close to fifty times, but I hated to admit it because it was so common. Next to tfios, my favorite book was Paper Towns, the one I was reading now. Margo was so courageous and full of adventure and spirit. She was so wild and free. It made me want to be like her, but I knew I never could be. My smile falters.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

It was a knock on my door. I jump and look outside. The pizza is here. I immediately gain a smile on my face. As I race down the stairs, the doorbell rings.

“I’m comin’, I’m comin’,” I say under my breath. I approach the door and swing it open. I can already smell the bacon on the pizza, and that makes my mouth water.

“Hello, that will be ten dollars.” says the boy. His voice catches me a little by surprise. It is very deep and the boy has a British accent. You never really see British people in Colorado, so this is new.

I had been so caught up on the pizza I forgot there was another human there. I glance up and smile. He has rosy cheeks and emerald eyes. He smiles back to reveal deep dimples. His brown, curls being suppressed by a red hat. He has a black ring on the right side of his lower lip. I admire the way it sparkles under my porch light. I look further down and can see swirls of ink across his collarbones.

Damn, I wonder if those hurt. Probably. 

“Oh, sorry.” I run into the kitchen to retrieve my wallet. I pull out a twenty. I jog back to the door. “Here, you go,” I breathe. I hand the boy the twenty in exchange for my pizza. My stomach is about to disintegrate. I am so hungry.

When we do the trade off, I realize my sleeve is rolled up. My cuts. They are visible. I hate when anyone else sees them. I am ashamed. I gaze my eyes up and realize the boy has seen them, too. I see his eyes on my wrists. His eyes suddenly lose their sparkle. They look up and make eye contact with mine. He is no longer smiling. His eyebrows furrow, but his eyes remain soft.

“Are you alright?” The boy questions, his voice soft and low.

Shit. Shit. Shit. A complete stranger saw them. Way to go, dumb ass. He probably thinks you want his attention. Play it off. Act cool. 

Yes, because I can act cool at a time like this. I internally roll my eyes at myself.

“Oh, yes. I’m okay. Well, um..” I cough awkwardly, “have a nice night.” I try to smile, but fail due to the tension in the air.

“Oh..um..you, too,” the boy gives me a small smile and gazes at the bill in his hand, “it was only ten.” He states, trying to return the twenty.

“That’s okay. Keep the change.” I smile.

“Oh..um..alright, thank you.” The boy grins brightly.

“You’re welcome.” I nod and shut the door, as the boy turns on his heel and jogs back down the stairs of the building.

I walk to the kitchen and set the pizza on the counter.

Fuck. You idiot. You should have put down your sleeves. I beat my hands into my head. Whatever. Don’t worry about it. You’ll never see him again. Mental note. Never order pizza from them again, for safe measure. I nod and open my box. The warm air hits my face and I am overcome with happiness. I grab a slice and fill it into my mouth. It tastes so fucking good. I grab a gatorade from the fridge and head to the living room to watch TV. I flop onto the couch and flick on the TV. Say Yes to the Dress fills the screen.

Yes!  My night is getting somewhat better. I love Say Yes to the Dress. I like to watch the dresses the girls pick and their stories. The way they met their partners and what they said about them. I love knowing other people are happy and how they achieved that happiness.

“You’ll never be happy.”

My damn conscious never left me alone. Always there with something new to say. Something to make me feel worse about myself, but that wasn’t even possible. I have the lowest self esteem you can imagine, but it could always go lower. I just chose to ignore that thought. I wanted to get better, not worse. But the likeness of me getting better was a one in a million chance.

I shake my head. I don’t want to think about negative stuff right now. I want to eat my pizza and watch Say Yes to the Dress. I kick my feet onto the coffee table in front of me. My feet shoot to the vase in the center. It falls to the floor and shatters. I stand and walk over to the mess. I groan loudly. I extend my arm and flick my wrist up. The broken pieces fly back together. It's perfect, as if it never broke. I pick up the vase from the floor and set it back on the table. This time, I put my feet up carefully. My attention returning to the TV.

Today’s rerun is about a girl who has OCD and can’t make a choice. She keeps over thinking it and she eventually gets so stressed she starts crying. It makes me a little sad. To think she is picking a dress for one of the most important days of her life and her disorder is getting in the way. After a mother to daughter talk in the fitting room, the girl calms down and tries on another dress. I love the dress she is wearing and she ends up picking it. It was in blush, but she orders it in white. I decide I would’ve ordered mine in white, too.  I have just always thought wedding dresses are made to be in white and you shouldn’t change that. The dress is a thirty-seven hundred dollar, Lazaro. It is a ball gown with a flower belt. It's beautiful. I have seen this dress multiple times. 

I want to try it on so badly. But, what's the point? I’ll never get married. But, hey, I can dream.

After about five more episodes, I decide it is time for bed. I am exhausted. I turn off the TV and trudge up the stairs. I creep into my room and crawl under the covers. I flick off my bedside lamp and close my eyes. I have work tomorrow and I need my rest. I don’t know if I will be physically or mentally ready for the day. But, then again, I am never really ready for anything.