Journey Back to Me

Chapter 7

Classes were boring. School has always been remarkably easy to me, and since I'm only taking music appreciation and Calculus I this semester, nothing much had changed. I got into my car and checked my phone to see if my mom sent me the list she promised. It was, in addition to a string of texts from my dad that quickly had me in stitches.

*Own may wy thyme*

*Fuck, that's not what I mednt!*

*I can't type on this stupid droid. I want my is phone beck.*

*UGH*

It takes me the whole way to Publix before I stop the tears from laughing at my poor dad. Technology has never been his thing.

The small girl in a green apron greets me at the sliding doors as they open. Everyone here is so nice. I'm so glad our small town got a Publix so I wasn't stuck going to Walmart for all my groceries.

My head is buried in my phone, studying the list my mom sent when I feel myself slam into someone.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," the words quickly tumble out of my mouth as I look up, but when I see the terrifying dimples leering over me, I immediately stop talking.

Reece.

My lips gape open while my lungs struggle to find breath.

"Michelle? Long time no see. You look good. A little sweaty for my taste, but good anyways."

I always hated the way he said my name, like he owned it and knew there was nothing I could do about it. I stood there, stoically silent. If my looks could kill, he'd be dying a long and slow death on the cold tile of this grocery store right now.

"Aw, come on, you have to say something. How have you been? I've missed you. Miss me?" His evil crooked smile hasn't changed a bit in the last six years.

After what seemed like hours of silence, even though it was probably only three seconds, my feet finally picked up on the hint from my brain to get away from him, and fast. I turned around a went out through the entrance before he could say anything else that I heard. As I got closer to my car, my feet seemed to pick up speed. When I finally shut – no, slammed – the door behind me, I let everything out. Everything I didn't realize I'd been holding in. I'd been doing so well. I haven't missed a therapy appointment. I've been diligent about being honest with myself and my doctors.

Everything changes when you have to face your biggest regret and biggest fear face-to-face, I guess.

After finishing my panic attack, I drove home, doing my best to even my breath on the ten-minute drive. When I walk into the kitchen, my mom is standing in front of the sink, finishing off some leftover dishes.

"Hey, sweetie. How was Publix? Did you get everything on the list?"

Fuck. The list.

"Uh...I, uh...no. I didn't go. I'm sorry." The memory of seeing Reece what seems like hours ago cuts me open all over again. My mom notices my eminent tears before bringing me into a tight hug.

"What happened?" She says into my shoulder in her gentle voice.

I start crying all over again. "I saw him. I saw Reece, and I couldn't do it. I'm sorry, I thought I was doing better. I thought I was strong enough to handle seeing him, but I was wrong. I'm still so weak." I manage to choke out the words in between sobs.

"You're not weak, baby. You're hurt, and you're learning. He took something from you that you can't get back, and that's not your fault. Go sit down, I'll bring you some Coke."

I go to sit on our giant brown couch while she shuffles around in the kitchen for a little while. Even after my stressful afternoon, I can't help the smile that makes its way to my lips when she glides towards me with a cup in the shape of a giant pink blow fish. The straw was poking out of the mouth, and its eyes bugged out.

"I figured this situation called for the fish cup," she settles in next to me on the couch and wipes the tears from my eyes while taking everything in. The fish cup is something that started when we were on a cruise as a family a few years ago, and my mom was a little tipsy at the time. She made the decision to shove the fish cup that contained her cocktail into her suitcase so we could have it home in case of emergencies. Even when drunk, she manages make good decisions. The cup can't really heal it, but it does bandage the reopened wounds for the moment.

After about five minutes of prolonged silence, aside from me sipping the crisp and fizzy drink that easily slides down my throat to ease the pain, my mom finally speaks. "Well, I still need to go to the grocery store. Would you like to come with me?"

I know she's asking because she's nervous to leave me alone. It makes sense. I'd be nervous, too, if I were her. I don't want to worry her, so I agree to go along. "Yeah, he was checking out, so it should be fine."

We get into the white Silverado parked in our driveway and she drives us back to Publix while I lean my forehead against the cold window of the passenger's side. She goes on about the new Netflix show her and my dad are watching, and I listen, or try to, at least. I don't actually retain any of the information, but just having her voice fill the cab of the truck helped to keep me calm.

Everything is going to be okay, Michelle. For real this time. I remind myself for what seems like the millionth time this week as we pull into the Publix parking lot. I take a deep breath and hop down out of the truck, praying I actually believe my own annoying mantra soon.