Battle

Chapter 1

'It's okay, Zo. You're okay and everything will be alright. Today will be a good day, because you have willed it so and you will get through anything that comes your way today. You've done it every day up until today and even on the bad days, you've survived. Be gracious."

This is the mantra I repeat as I feel consciousness coming back to me rapidly. I push out all the anxiety and focus on breathing at a normal pace. I focus on eliminating the sick feeling that my body is vibrating, hard on the inside, that the buzz in my fingers and toes is the literal embodiment of a mental issue.

This is routine. Every day, at the same time, the anxiety manifesting first thing, the same exact mantra and the same fight to survive another day fighting with myself and the outside word. For the longest time I only had to fight the real world, shutting down all the emotion and deprecation that constantly gnawed at me.

I became so good at it that I, Zo McClean had successfully managed to forget what it meant to be a person with depression. It ceased to exist as something I associated with myself. I was the witty friend, the friend that drank and the friend everyone referred to as the grumpy grandma of the group because of my incessant napping and sage wisdom.

Problem? It worked too well. So well that I was completely caught of guard by the mental break I had while sitting in bed, holding my favorite water pipe and attempting to finally get into The Walking Dead. At first, I thought I was just way to high, until I realized I hadn't smoked even half a bowl. I couldn't recall a time that I had ever felt so horrible, so quickly. Without delving to this too deeply, I snapped. I snapped and then I spiraled at lightning speed. That was 3 months ago and I think I've done a pretty decent job so far of not completely losing my mother fucking mind.

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I jumped, hitting my knee on the underside of my desk and accidentally yanking my earbuds out of my ears as my audio book gets disrupted by a rapid fire of text messages. I never recall turning my ringtone or my notification sound on and yet- there goes that goddamn bing! bing! bing! bing! bing! seconds a part from each other. Grabbing my wallet and my cell phone, I quickly get up and walk away from my desk toward the vending machine, looking down at my phone and avoiding contact with anyone that ventures too close to my personal space.

My best friends have decided that tonight we all need to get ourselves together and go out somewhere, anywhere and grab a drink or five. I've promised myself that I'd attempt to be more spontaneous, so I don't argue. Would I prefer to go straight home, pull on an oversized sweatshirt, order something I had no business eating before falling asleep unreasonably early, while Netflix played in the background?- yes. But instead I just asked what time and place while complaining about the fact that I'd actually have to comb my hair and look for clothes that were bar or club appropriate, which narrowed my choices down to jean shorts, flowy shorts, and booty shorts. After ensuring my volume for everything but my audio book was down, I went back to work for the last two hours of the week, mentally preparing myself for tonight and trying to plan out at least a thirty minute nap prior to getting ready.

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One week later

The club was, for all intents and purposes, a bust. Not a complete waste, I looked great, there was plenty of alcohol, and I even managed to find a beautiful man that gave me his undivided attention for the entire night.

And therein lays the problem. He was nice, truly, and was completely respectful until the end of the night. My friends got tired of watching us "get it on" as they put it and headed home towards midnight. As I stood outside, attempting to cool down and see straight enough, for long enough to request a Lyft, I felt a warm breathe on near my ear and an arm slide around my waist.

"You don't need to do that, I got you." He chuckled into my ear. What was his name again? David? Danielle? No, more "man of mysterious" than that. Damion? Best to just stick to pronouns. No need to seem dumber than a drunk girl, struggling to make her way home a 2am has to look.

"Oh no. It's okay. They're on their way, plus I have to make and extra stop and it's late." Is it weird that I felt embarrassed to tell a stranger that I was drunk-hungry and had every intention of sliding through Taco Bell's drive thru and grabbing disgusting food that I had every intention of consuming like a human garbage disposal? Intoxicated me seemed to think so.

My breath hitched as the arm that was once around my healthily fluffy and exposed mid section tightened hard enough for me to wince in pain as forearm met the bottom of my ribcage.

"A little late for a booty call, isn't it? And dangerous in this city to roam around with a stranger." Alarm! Alarm! Someone isn't wrapped completely right. That or I'm way to drunk to read his body language correctly. I hadn't seen him with a single drink the entire night. His judgement was probably better than mine.

I attempted to casually wiggle my way out of his grasp, but only succeeded in having an equally tight arm wrapped around my waist. "I was just going to get food, I don't have anyone to call for my booty and I'm way too tired to go even if I did get called." Why am I trying to reason with this guy?

"Well in that case, I will take you." Leaving no room for discussion, he began crossing the street toward the almost empty parking lot, directly to his sleek black something or another car. Opening the passenger side door, my new friend stood silently as I climbed into the car and buckled myself in.

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"Were you really just going to find food?"

I huffed. "Yup."

"Where were you going?"

"Taco Bell. Cinnabon bites are poppin' after a few shots of tequila."

Silence. Maybe it was a minute, maybe fifteen - who knew. I do know that I'd apparently dozed off when the conversation died. What woke me was the protestations of my stomach. Hunger and hangovers are a non too pleasant combination.

What kept me frozen in place was the feeling of a bed beneath me and large hand wrapped around the back of my bare thigh, dangerously close to my ass.