The Story After the End

Questions, Questions, Questions

"You know Peter likes you, right?" Becca mentions casually as we do English homework in my room. 

I tell her that I do know and I ask "How do you know he won't hurt me like Micah did, how am I supposed to trust he won't abandon me?" 

Becca doesn't have an answer for that all she tells me is I have to trust someone someday if I want to be in a happy, healthy relationship. 

I can feel my leg starting to burn due to the stress over Peter. 

"I need to relax," I grumble, "I'm starting to hurt over all of this."

Becca moves to the floor so I can have more room on the bed to lay down. 

"Just be glad it's not raining out," Becca jokes.

I laugh less than whole-heartedly as my mind starts to wander back to Peter. 

"Should I tell him?" I ask Becca

She ponders for a few seconds before responding, "I don't know, do you want him to know?"

I don't respond to her as I am lost in thought, thinking about the consequences of telling him. He could start to pity me, he could stop being friends with me, or he could even become overbearing with concern. 

As we finish our homework, Becca tells me that she has to go home. I walk her to the door and tell her goodbye with the strength I have left in me.

As soon as she leaves, I go back to room and collapse onto the bed, full of exhaustion and pain. I sleep for what feels like a million years, but in reality is only a couple hours until my mom got home from work. 

"Lexis, sweetie, how are you doing today?" she asks full of concern.

"Terrible," I reply with a some unintentional  sass in my voice. 

"Did you take your meds this morning?" she asks a little too accusingly for my concern.

I tell her that I did and she just nods her head to this. 

We walk around the kitchen in silence as we put random junk away so we can cook dinner before my appointment. 

"So, you have Carrie today, are you excited?" my mom asks me hoping for a different response this time than any other time.

I reply with an, "Uh...sure." Wery of my answer. Knowing how hard all of this has been on my mother. 

My mother replied with a good and went back to putting the ingredients in the pot for soup. I just stop and stare, not knowing how to respond or act. 

Dinner is pretty quiet despite the occasional question and answer. We are putting the dishes in the dishwasher as my alarm goes off.

"Ready to go?" my mother asks. 

I respond simply with "Yeah."