I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Seventh Chapter

I wake up with a start. I dont usually, but Im moving, and thats never a good sign.

"I found her guys!" Someone yells, making me flinch.

I look up, Patrick is carrying me.

"Let me go." I croak.

I try and sound as demanding as I can. But its hard to be convincing in the state that Im in.

"Patrick I swear if you dont let me go Ill... Ill..." What will I do? What can I do?

I fold myself up so I slip through his arms and land on the ground. I stagger on my hands and toes to standing before tripping a few steps forward. Patrick grabs me around the waist before I can run further, pulling me into him, closer. My teeth grit and I shake my head, trying to move but being pulled up off the floor. My body aches. I dont know if I could do it again.

Theyve got me. Its over.

As a last resort I start struggling, but its no use, he is holding me too tightly and what would I do if he put me down?

At this point, I cant help but cry. I cry big ugly tears that wash away some of the dirt down my face and leave paths of sickly pale skin.

I look up at him, eyes wide and watery and ask: "Did Joe tell you?".

Patricks eyebrows are furrowed as he looks down at me. "Yes," he whispers.

They know. I cant stop the tears as I wrap in on myself. My clothes are already damp, some tears wont do anything. My body shakes as I put my hands to my face. Theres no way out but death and I dont want to die.

"Jesus Pat, what did you say?" Pete asks as we reach the edge of the woods.

I dont hear much of the conversation over my sobs but theres something about using my phone to find out I didnt 'get home safely'. I never get home, let alone safely.

I keep my eyes closed to try and stop the tears, but after four years of being dry eyed, the tears come, heavy.

"What do we do?" Someone whispers as we stand at the edge of the woods.

Technically though, Im not standing.

"Shes damp and scared and tired, what else can we do but take her back again." Someone else says.

"She could die out here, by the looks of it it was her plan anyway."

"Pete dont say that."

We are moving again. Its like Im being rocked slowly. Its cold and Im damp and I hate this. I hate this so much. I have no power or say in anything and Im just being taken around against my will and I hate this.

My cries almost get louder as I think about it.

I can feel some warmth hit me as we enter their house. Its too late to escape. The door locks behind me and as Patrick puts me down I curl into myself. I tuck my knees to my chest and bury my head in my legs. I keep my eyes sealed tightly closed. I can feel myself dampening the sofa.

This is a bit of a low, even for me.

I force myself to stop. I force myself to stop crying, to stop shaking, to stop feeling, to stop being so damn annoying. Its hard, but you can always secure a bottle after opening it.

I just lie, curled in on myself, attempting to breathe.

"Jesse? Jess? Are you... Urm... Alright?" Patrick asks.

With my eyes still clamped closed I shake my head. My hair is wet and probably sprays water as I shake it violently.

"Patrick, Im a mess." I say, as calmly as I can.

Theres a silence.

I then ask "Can I borrow your shower?" and they are obliged to say yes.

I stand in the steamy heat of the shower for longer than a minute or two. I let the water try and wash off the dirt before taking over and scrubbing away as harshly as I can. I scrub away until I feel raw. Will the police be here by the time I get out?

I take a white fluffy towel that has 'guest' on it and wrap it around my raw body. I always keep spare underwear in my bag for days like this. I would have never guessed that this would happen though.

Someone had put out some spare clothes on the bed, another of the thousand Fall Out Boy tops and some sweats. They thought about me, even if for a moment. I stare at the clothes, waiting to feel something other than numb.

It takes me a while, once dressed, to open the door. I stand in front of it and hover my hand over the handle. What will happen when I open it? I take my hand back and adjust my fringe. They have seen me at my worst, adjusting my fringe wont do anything.

I open the door and peek my head around. Patrick is cooking something and Pete is sitting at the table, they are talking. They both turn and look at me when I shut the door behind me. They were ready to hear the subtle click, I wasnt.

I stand with my back against the door, pressed like Im trying to be absorbed back though.

Patrick beckons me. I drag myself over and sit down at one side of the table, the opposite one to Pete. I put my head down on the table.

"You feeling better?" Patrick asks.

I dont really reply, just humming without meaning.

"Im making food and then we could discuss... Everything."

I hum again, breathing slowly.

When I sit up there is a plate in front of me and the others are eating. My plate is smaller than the others and has half of what the others have. They know Im not hungry. I force myself to eat a couple of mouthfuls before stopping.

You may think Im being horrible. I may be acting horribly. But look at me. They know my secrets and dragged me here and Im sure they are going to call the police. I have rights to act this way. Im finished.

"Did I really cook that bad?" Patrick jokes nervously.

"It was great. Im just not hungry." I force some sort of a smile his way.

I take my plate and clean it up before sitting back at the table.

"Have you called the police yet?" I ask.

"Why would we call the police?" Patrick asks.

I shrug and look at the table again. The shiny white reflects my pale face.

"Lets go and sit down, we talk work out what is going on." Patrick says carefully.