Yes, Sir

4.4

•- Laine Bennett -•

Skipping work was never on the agenda. But my restless night ended in me dialing Austin's number at four in the morning to tell him I'd been up all night with a cough and was incapable of attending work for the day.

It was a sad excuse to wallow in self pity at the new information released regarding the death that lead Thea and I into New York 15 years ago.

I had no intention of revisiting the haunting past that I was so kindly supporting everyday. In fact, I'd convinced myself that both my parents had died that day.

I curl up tight to a stuffed animal Thea had gifted me for Christmas.

I tried to remember that night throughly in hopes that the happiness I felt would overthrow this emotion of hatred for the things I've done as well as the things he's done.

Thea had made a bribery attempt by asking me to go to breakfast, but the last thing I wanted to do was eat food and vomit the entirety of my meal hours later.

Thea never had to deal with the aftermath. I forced myself to attend to her need when someone brought it up. She was too young to understand why her mother and father were no longer going to be in her life. It was the time I realized I needed to grow up and take care of my baby sister even if it was the last thing I would ever do.

My sleepless night was evident on my features with undeniable dark circles formed under my eyes. I never found myself crying over this particular memory. I could never see a point in giving in to the indescribable amount of despair that was disintegrating my bones.

Grams had gone to work herself. I'd ushered her off willingly in need to stay home by myself. Thea managed to get a job at a retail store weeks ago but I truthfully didn't expect her to make it so long. She'd always been someone to speak her mind and be a little over the top when the limits of her abilities were tested.

I was pulling the soft fur from the large bear my body was wrapped around. It was calming to say the least, but when investigates to a new depth, just a metaphor. You could pluck away all you wanted, but when I'm finally left bare, I'd still be recognizable.

I strive for it to be the truth of my life, but that was wishful thinking and wishing was the last thing in earth I wanted to do. In fact, I don't think it was listed in my wants to begin with.

I'm drawn away from my everlasting thoughts by the sound of a loud pounding on the front door.

I ignore for a few moments in hopes that whoever or whatever it is will either break the door down and devour my body entirely, or at least leave me to my lonesome for the rest of the night before I have to go back to my place of employment.

The knocking comes again with the same force to each clattering sound.

I unwillingly push my body from the sunken shape of my bed in order to put an end to the sound.

With the smallest amount of self respect I had in me, I pull my hair up and out of my face to look less like a raccoon than what I imagined myself to look like.

The mailman could have trudged up those stairs to deliver something important himself, and I didn't feel the need to corrupt him for the rest of his days.

My feet pad against the terracotta floor tiles and the sudden coldness seems to caffeinate me enough to open the door.

My lack of contacts draws my eyes to a narrowed point as I stare at Austin Wood.

He wasn't dressed in his suit, and in his hands were bags with questionable contents inside.

"I called," I state monotonously as I lean between the door and the frame, "I'm sick."