A Good Day to Remember (unedited)

Chapter Three - September 24th, 2018 - Mollie

When Sebastien broke up with me, he made up a totally bullshit excuse.

I didn't believe that Dreams of the Dead would get very far, and so far, I've been right. They even broke up for awhile. Dreams of the Dead hasn't even released a full album.

I should be less judgemental, I know that, but it's been proven that currently, what he told me, was just a bullshit excuse.

I tried to say something about it when he broke up with me, but he wouldn't listen. I asked, "You'd risk your future on something that's unlikely to happen," which was Dreams of the Dead becoming famous, North Brooks doesn't make famous people, "but you won't risk your emotions on me?" It pissed him off, and he said no.

And then he stopped talking to me.

It's funny, because he said we wanted to stay best friends. I shouldn't have believed his bullshit. I loved him, so I did. But I shouldn't have.

He would risk everything on something that wasn't going to work, but he wouldn't risk me. I would have done everything I could to save us, if there was an us.

But there's never going to be an us. Not again. He won't give me the chance. A chance that I would try to make work.

North Brooks is in an economically depressed county in Eastern Oregon. Nobody famous will ever be born in North Brooks because the people who are born in North Brooks cannot afford to leave. And I know that that's not a good way to look at things, but it's true. The only reason that my dad can be famous and live in North Brooks is because we've lived all over and he did not come from North Brooks.

Today's my second official Dreams of the Dead practice, and I'm not looking forward to it. Last week, it ended with me fighting with Sebastien over melody and chords, because I came up with some complicated shit that he didn't like.

We also fought last week because I relapsed. After nine months, I relapsed. I was doing so good. January 20th, 2018 was the last time I cut, until a couple of days ago.

Today's a Monday and I hate Mondays. I have ever since I was little.

I used to throw fits when I was little and it was a Monday and I had school. Up until fourth grade, I threw fits because I've always had issues with Mondays. I'm better about it now.

Mr. Cooper, my Advanced Music Theory professor at UPac, cancelled class today, so I have a free seventh. Blake, who also has a free seventh, and I left right after sixth period to go to his house for practice.

Blake and I just got to Safeway to grab snacks before going to practice. I'm honestly hoping Sebastien skips this practice. I don't want to see him.

Last night, I was reading through "milk and honey" by Rupi Kaur, and I found a poem that made me cry. It was on page 132, but it reminded me of how I felt about Sebastien. I actually haven't missed him emotionally in so long.

I used to miss how he hugged me when I was about to cry. The way that he kissed my forehead when we were emptying out his dishwasher. I used to miss his family. Now, I'm beginning to miss him again. The way that he treated me. The way that he would talk to me like I was a real person. I'm beginning to miss everything.

Last night was the first night I've cried about Sebastien since either April or May.

We're in the chips isle, and I have grabbed two bags of spicy cheetos and put them in Blake's basket that he grabbed because he's smart like that. I totally wouldn't have.

I'm so glad that I have a group now. I'm so glad that I have somewhere that I fit in. I haven't felt like I've fit in anywhere in thirteen months.

"Mollie Hazel!" Someone behind me calls my name; my music-production name.