The Lies We Told On Thursday Nights

27. Saturday: Pills, Whiskey, and Spinach (Levi)

Hey! Another thouroguly unedited chapter. I wanted to edit last night but my friend had to use my computer, then today I have a road trip and internet (and hot spot) kept going out.
Also, I did accidentally publish it before, but unpublished it.

Levi
Saturday 12:08
Despite being inside the restaurant, I still wrore my sunglasses. My head was killing me, the pressure felt like having a 50 pound weight on my head. I felt dizzy and more nauseous than usual. I always get nauseous when anxious, but this was different.

I'd like to tell you I was getting sick, but no. I'm 99% sure my symptoms are caused by the 23 sleeping pills and 2 travel size whiskey I took last night.

Last night I didn't want to die, especially not from sleep pills. I just wanted to fucking sleep.

In the past 6 months I either sleep 1-3 hours or 12-18 hours.

And last night was one of those nights of being consciously tormented by my mind.

I took some pills early that night, than more, than more. And then two mini-travel glasses of hard whiskey, hardly enough to give me the euphoria of alchohol. All I could think about was my dilemma. I knew I was going to die next Saturday, I wanted to. But I knew part of the process taking my own life includes denying anything good; don't care about anything.

Yet I was here, in the ultra-modern, vegetarian, millennial, gluten free, organic, and of course "healthiest food" resuraunt.

It was Emery's pick.

I knew she'd get a salad or something, but better than nothing.

Nothing looks appealing to me, they were too green and I was too childish.

The lights were incredibly vibrant in the restaurant, I had to shut my eyes. I let my head roll off the back of the chair.

I embraced the darkness, felt comfortable.

That was until I heard my name.

"Levi?"

I couldn't help but groan while leaving my relaxed state.

The last to return to reality were my eyes, I opened them to find Emery standing over me.

To be frank, I was so out of it and down in the dumps I wasn't giving myself enough time to worry about the metaphorical bomb between us.

I was in no mood to worry about our future or our relationship.

Her ginger hair was tied in a French braid, intricate and shiny.

She was wearing a green sweater dress  that ended above her knees. She wore the thickest fleece legging, despite the bulkiness I still saw the bones in her knees.

Ontop of the sweater she wore an escomo type jacket.

It was probably 60^ degrees, but she was dressed as if it were 30^

I made a sound low in my throat, it was meant to be like a 'hey there' but no.

She crossed her arms, giving me a vexing look.

Despite clearing my throat, my voice was hoarse. "Hey."

She nodded, satisfied with this greeting opposed to the previous one.

"Hello," she said with a monotonous genteel tone. She placed her purse on the back of her chair and methodically Sat down, folding her hands in her lap.

I couldn't help but look at her, I wanted to laugh. This wasn't a business meeting. We were hanging like friends.

But then I remembered four things: 
1. She doesn't really have any friends
2. last time we talked things got too deep and we both knew it would be awkward
3. she was in a restaurant and despite the monotonous tone sweat dripped from her forehead, but I don't think from cold. Her eyes skirted around the room, carefully observing the customers food.
4. We were in each others company, at our free will, not for a coincidence, and not because sisters dying