This is the first draft, so it isn't edited or good in any way lol. I haven't got the ending nailed down yet and I'll definitely change it when I have the time. This is due today and I just turned it in so I don't have time to improve the ending. If anyone has any advice to improving it, I'd be happy to hear it!
We sit together on the couch, bathed in the mellow glow of the t.v. She's curled up, chin resting on her knees. It's as if she's trying to swallow herself.
Looking at her, you couldn't tell she was in pain. I wouldn't have been able to tell, had I not known Aria for so long. Her lips are apple peel slivers, pressed into thin lines. Her breaths are sharp pops in the silence between us. Tylenol packets litter the floor around her, offerings at an altar.
I don't know how she copes. The last time I was in a similar kind of pain, I became very well acquainted with the kitchen floor. I think I lay there for two days straight. I met god under the harsh light of the fridge, on my knees, prayers an utterance between retching. Cheek pressed against the cold tile, desperately wishing it would be over. Wishing I could cry for my mother like a child, wishing her to nurture the migraine away.
Aria's hand snakes out from underneath a blanket, gripping the remote in her pale fist. She turns the volume up, as if the deafening sound can drown out the pain shooting through her muscles. For the first time, I pay attention to what she's watching. Some trashy reality show neither of us have seen. Anything to distract her from the pain.
Had this been two weeks ago, I would've ran her a warm bath, done the chores that she wouldn't be able to do. I would've bought her ice cream, simply talked to her and sat with her. I would've relaxed her, distracted her, taken away some of the pain's power. But now she doesn't want me anywhere near her. She'd rather lie here as the pain ravages her body. Apparently, fibromyalgia is easier to face than me.
The silence presses down on my shoulders, brittle bones cracking under the weight. Trembling against it, as my shoulder blades splinter, remnants poking at my skin. I can't deal with this split between us anymore. Carving into the space between us, all the words we leave unsaid bleed crimson. I stand up, world spinning underneath me. "I'm going to bed," I mutter, striding out of the room without looking back.
My room blurs before my swollen eyes. I'm tangled in bedsheets, mouth bitter with the taste of her name. Rancid, rotting. I must've been dreaming about Aria again. I unwind the sheets from my body, sunlight streaming into the room. Sunday arrives with a yawn, sluggish and lazy. A hot, steaming coffee is the only thing that can persuade me from getting out of bed. I hesitate in the doorway. I should apologise for being so abrupt yesterday. No matter what happened between us, she's still struggling with her chronic illness. And she's still my best friend, even if I'm not hers anymore. Even if I wish she was more than that.
Stumbling into the kitchen, I prepare a coffee through bleary eyes. Thoughts fizzle around my brain, absent minded checklists of things I should do today that I won't, assignments and college work. I bury Aria under the pile of monotonous tasks. I move my coffee cup, tracing the ring I've left behind as it soaks through the now-stained paper. I snap out of my stupor as the title of the letter glares up at me. "Housing Reassignment Request." A small noise bursts through my lips. I stare at it until the words blur, until I can't read them anymore. I jump to my feet, shoving it under the pile of paper that's accumulated on the table. I bury this letter too, deep under the pile in my brain. I have work today. I won't procrastinate. I'll be productive. I'll throw myself into work until I can't remember anything about the last two weeks.
The door slams, echoing around the empty house. I'm on the floor, cloaked in the darkness as if it can hide me from the world. Aria's footsteps tap against the wooden floor as she troops through the house. "Sorry, I was out all day. I've been busy, ya know?" She calls to my door, expecting me to be on the other side of it. "Dana? Are you okay?" My door creaks open. I tip back my bottle, letting the sunfire slip wash down my throat. "Where are you? I know you're here, the door wasn't locked." I hear her footsteps recede from my room, getting closer to me.
