Jet Black Hearts / l.h.

𝟏𝟓

Monday, September 28, 2018
5:32 p.m.
East Woodburrow Street

Who does she think she is anyways? Just because she gave birth to me doesn't mean she can dictate my life.

It'll be a quick trip, she said. It'll be good for you to get out of the house, she said.

I don't see how any of this is helping me improve whatsoever.

I was holed up in my room again, safe and sound, when my mom came barging in and told me that we needed some groceries. She claimed that it would be the perfect opportunity for me to get out of my room and actually do something with my pathetic life and somewhat socialize, but oh was she wrong. As soon as I arrived at Kmart I was overwhelmed by the annoying kids. Then, as I was trying to pick up the milk, it slipped out of my hand and spilled all over the floor.

I cried. I don't know why, but my eyes were tearing up and my lip was shaking. A store employee saw my clumsiness and came over to help clean up, telling me that mistakes like that happen all the time, but I make mistakes all the time and I was just so tired of messing up so many times.

I left the Kmart and sat on the bench outside the building for a solid ten minutes just recollecting myself. I dried my tears and thought about how childish and stupid I was being. Who the hell cries over spilled milk, anyways?

I entered the store once more and swiftly grabbed all the groceries on the list, but that time I grabbed a jug of chocolate milk instead of normal white milk because why the fuck not.
I checked out and now here I am, walking home with a bag of groceries in both hands. The sun is constantly hiding behind the clouds spotting the sky, but when it creeps out from behind the clouds, it's like I'm lit on fire. It's ridiculous wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt in this weather.

I'm walking past a small community park with a playground and an outdoor basketball court when a familiar voice calls out.

"Hey, Brin!"

I don't look; I don't have to to know that it's Luke. I continue on walking past, acting like I didn't hear anything.

Footfalls approach me from behind. A hand loosely wraps around my forearm.

I don't turn, but I stop walking. I don't look at Luke.

"Hey," he says. When I don't respond, he asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, everything's perfect," I snap, finally looking at Luke.

He's in a t-shirt and basketball shorts with a basketball poised on his hip being held by his miniscule arm. It's the most revealing outfit I've seen him in, and it makes me feel slightly sick by how ill he looks. His knees are knobbly and his frame is so slim and malnourished that he looks like he could just fall into a pile of bones at my feet.

Luke notices my eyes scanning his frame and shifts his weight and moves the basketball in front of his seemingly nonexistent stomach.

I sigh. "Sorry for snapping."

"It's okay." He studies my face, narrowing his eyes a little. "Are you okay? You seem down."

I clench my hands holding onto the plastic bags of groceries. My nails dig into my skin as I mentally yell at Luke. Really? I seem down? Gee, that might have to do with the fact that I have depression.

I have to bite my lip so I refrain from speaking my intrusive thoughts I would regret if I voiced them.

"I'm fine."

Actually, I just had a breakdown at Kmart because I spilled some milk. Obviously, I'm far from fine, I'm an unstable freak.

Luke hesitantly nods. He glances at the groceries I'm holding, then at the rapidly setting sun nearing the horizon.