Petrichor

Rain, Rain, Go Away

"Rain, rain, go away. Come again some other day."
I whispered under my breath, staring blankly at the blurry drops streaking my bedroom window like tears.
I was in my room, huddled under my blue fleece blanket, shivering. I was never warm. Always, always cold.
Like I wasn't even alive.
My eyes hesitantly fell on the whitening scars across my wrists, proof that I shouldn't even be here.
Yet by some "miracle" i was.
i felt like I should have called Jay up. I could have really used a pick-me-up right then.
But it was pouring, and there was no way he would walk the mile from his house to mine just to satisy a little craving.
Even if that craving was quickly developing into an addiction.
It started a couple of weeks ago, after my first attempt. I wouldn't speak for a week straight, Not to him, not to Asher, and definitely not to my parents.
I locked myself in my room. I didn't eat, and I couldn't sleep. I lost track of the days, until finally Jay told me he was sick of seeing me like a lifeless drone.
He gave me some of his secret stash.
Who was I to say no?
The first time I smoked pot, it was brilliant. I felt like I was on a cloud. Like I could touch the stars. I felt higher than God himself. For all I knew i was God.
The second time was a little trickier. I got a bad case of the greens and ended up hiding in my closet, puking for half an hour straight.
Even after that one bad buzz I wanted more. I was happy, and Jay thought it was hilarious to see me high.
In case you were wondering, Jay is my "friend with benefits."
He was there for three reasons.
The pot, the comedic relief, and the "relations"
Neither of us really loved each other, and neither of us wanted a relationship. For all I knew he had dozens of poor girls waiting to get their hearts broken.
He was probably with one of them now, locked inside, away from the relentless rain.
I sighed and rolled over, shoving a pillow over my face. I wanted to cry, but for some reason I didn't.
I missed Hannah.
She told me, she told me was going to run away and I didn't believe her. I thought she was kidding around. Someone as naive as her could never survive by herself for more than a day.
But it's been nearly two weeks.
She was probably out there in the rain, wanting to come home but too afraid to try. I tried to call her phone every night. I left her a voicemail before I went to bed, cracked voice and teary eyed about how much we all missed her, begging her to come home.
I never heard back from her.
She probably didn't even have her phone anymore anyway.
And yet I still did it.
Everynight after dinner I snuck out to the back porch and listened to her pre-recorded message. My heart fluttered when I heard her voice.
Part of me is holding on to her, even though everyone else thinks she's dead. I feel like if I give up then she really will be gone.
Dead.