Wednesday. 7:00. Late at night. Not too late. Dark. Dark outside. Left out. Only one friend. Moody. Both of us. She's doing okay. I forget. I forget about the rest of the week. Can't remember who I am. Sad. Three years. Still can't remember. One word. One simple word. Then I would belong.
Inside. It's okay. Girls. Talking. Texting. Self motivation. Okay. Everything is okay. Numb. Numb to the world and pain. Thank you IBuprofen. It helps. A lot. Maybe I should feel something. I did feel the sadness. Nothing else. She talks. So sweet. Innocent. Delicate. She's awesome. Hands. Why are here hands shaking? The rest of her is steady. I know. I know it was a bad question. I should have known. I am stupid. No one else knows. She knows. I know. I know I get it. I want to feel. I keep questioning. She keeps talking. Talks about a friend. Who goes missing. Clicking of phones stop. Buzz of chatter haults. Silence. She continues. Name. Her name is Jackie. The friends' name is Chelsea. Five days. Lived in the safest neighborhood in town. We expect she will be found. Not found dead. Murdered. She's almost crying. I am crying. I hide. I hide my face and feelings. I already told. I told them. I told them about Monday. The God forsaken day. I felt. I felt that day. The wrong things. I definitely felt. Jackie. She continues. Talks about her high school. She's currently in high school. No. College. Confused thought. Says they poured love. A love out-pour. Wish it could happen everyday. My question is answered. In a way I can't. I can't explain. Like my panic attack. On Monday. That God forsaken day. I am bawling. Jackie. She comes up to me. We are all frozen or near tears. Not me. I'm crying. The jeans. Same ones I wore Monday. That God forsaken day. We talk. Talk about crying. Crying in movies. I feel better. Boys. In the room. A lot now. We leave. All better. Silent car ride. Home. At last. Comfort, sleep, warmth. Feelings. The pain meds must have worn off.