Speaking In Silence [Book 2]

3

I wasn't exactly sure why I was upset. It could have been that I had no alcohol to soothe me or just that things were getting worse. Either way it wasn't good and I was not prepared for what came next.
I didn't want to get better, which meant I wouldn't. I was so close to my last resort that rock bottom was clouding every move I made. It was inching nearer to my brain with every failed attempt at revival.

I downed the last of the whiskey in my bottle and smashed the glass on cement outside of the gravesite. I'd gotten drunk again and was wallowing in self pity. This time, it was over Natasha. We had been great friends up until we were thirteen or fourteen and Conrad didn't let us be friends. We told each other everything. I hadn't had a friend like her since, nor would I ever find one. It was so much easier to tell her things now that she was dead.

I staggered down towards her headstone, and set the flowers I'd brought beside it. I lay face up next to her and waited for the moon to stop spinning before I spoke. Except- I didn't speak- I cried. I let the hot tears sting my cold skin and run down my cheeks and to my ears.

"Why does it have to be so hard, Tasha? Why'd he have to kill you?" My words were drowned in my sobs.

I did blame Killian for the death of my childhood friend, but the problem was that I understood him so I could never detest him for it. My love was too powerful, which was more painful than it would be to harbour the hate. It was his fault though, he did kill her, and I couldn't help but think I pushed him. If you love them, let them go. That was the saying... right? It's not true, I shouldn't have let him go.

"He was so great, but he was in so much pain!" I got frustrated and slammed my bare arms into the dirt. My thin shirt clung to my back from the dampness of the ground, "COME BACK DAMMIT!"
More cries escaped my lips, shoving them back was useless. I turned on my side and lay my cheek on the dirt, my tears making it mud. It was far from a pretty sight.

-

The sun shined past my eyelids, making me turn over to avoid it. I quickly realized that I was on hard ground. I groaned and remembered what I had done the night before. Sitting up, I brushed the crusted dirt off of my face and looked around.
It looked different in the daylight. The last time I'd seen Natasha's grave like this was her funeral. It was pretty, and the yellow flowers I'd brought seemed even brighter than before. It all felt like a lie because just a few hours prior to this moment, everything was so dark.

I stood up and dusted myself off, slowly walking to my truck parked in the lot of the neighboring church. The more I walked, the more I wanted to run. I had a strange burst of energy coursing through my limbs that yearned for an escape. So I ran, and ran, and ran some more. I ran till my palms were slick with sweat and my chest heaved greatly. Passersby watched me with confusion, but I didn't care. I knew my appearance was sloppy and grungy, but on the inside I felt different, clean, almost.
I made my way back to my truck, waiting for the dreariness to return. Instead I was filled with delight and laughter for absolutely no reason. My teeth bared a grin, a laugh escaped my throat. What is so funny? I asked myself. I didn't know. My mind and body rode an emotional high that I hadn't experienced in almost a year now. It was so foreign to me that I started crying. It was liberating, all of these happy emotions and no where to put them.

For the next few days, things were great. I went to class, slept normally, ate regularly, and was even sober for that time. Whatever was going on needed to stick. Jokes were funny again, I was even kind to people for no reason as well.
However, the good was covering up the storm brewing inside. I didn't realize it, or feel it, but the bad was just beginning.  I managed to make myself sick in the head.