Page 43 of It Never Was

What time is it anyway?

"Hello? Girl? What are you doing in my living room? You have a perfectly good room upstairs!" Sharry calls from next to me on the ground, not bothering to try and get up. Her voice is faint and sour.

"I must have knocked out." I say as I push my body off the couch, the dull ache of my muscles cry at me. The pain makes me regret not going upstairs to my bed last night. I take a breath midway and scrunch my face as I straighten up. Turning around to see my mother spread out like a starfish on the floor behind me. I look down at her, her eyes are closed, but her face twisted and pulled like it always is. So much anger plastered on her face, years of it. One eye cracks open, just enough to see me looking down at her. She makes a face at me that tells me to fuck off before speaking.

"Stop staring at me Ryen. It's weird and creepy. Go to your part of the house. Away from me. Where I don't have to look at your judgmental face." Her eyes closed again.

I don't have the energy to respond back so I make my way to the front door to get my bag from the hook to retrieve my phone. I didn't hear my alarm go off, so I know I am not late for work. Small victories, I guess. Rumbling through my bag feeling for my phone, I see it light up.

"Shuuuush." Sharry croaks out, her hand waving me away.

I roll my eyes, making a face at her knowing she can't see me, she is falling back into unconsciousness.

1:14am.

I have plenty of time before I have to drive to work, to get ready and pack up for the long shift and school day.

Drive to work…. drive…FUCK.

"I'm not done with you yet"

Devon's voice booms in my skull.

My stomach drops.

He was supposed to drive me back to the shop this morning. But after what happened last night…

I shake my head slightly, trying to stop the memories of his hands on me. The look that burned its way into my brain. But the shakes cause the pain to vibrate through my skull, sharp pains forming behind my eyes.

He left me with all this…pain, on top of leaving me without a ride or car. I look back at my phone screen, the light vibrating from the shaking of my hands, opening my Google Maps app to see how long it would take me to walk to work.

Noticing for the first time the red marks on my wrists. I avert my eyes, focusing back on the screen. I can't process last night right now. The back of my neck starts to feel as if an itch is growing underneath the skin. The oddly familiar feeling forms in my stomach.

Focus.

One hour…

That sounded about right.

My shift started at 3 AM. Checking the time again to see it is now 1:17am. I sprinted, as fast as my sore body would allow me to, to the kitchen to start the coffee pot before I hightailed it up stairs to jump into a much-needed shower. My body feels heavy and dirty.

After I scrub the ever-living shit out of myself…twice. I bum rushed to my room to get dressed and gather all the things I needed for the day.

Sharry never moves a muscle in this time, because as I make my way to the door with everything in hand she is still in the same spot and pose as before.

I should have listened to my gut yesterday.

But you didn't.

It is a lot colder than I thought it would be outside. I avoided washing my hair in the shower because I knew it was a bad move with the low temperatures this early in the morning. The sun won't be up for hours.

While the shower cleaned me, I don't feel very clean. Every step feels weighted, and I can feel how off my brain is with each one. Like I am looking out of someone else's eyes. Even after I scrubbed my skin raw, then scrubbed a second time, for good measure, I still feel him everywhere.

Layers and coffee don't help the coldness of the morning air, causing my hands to stiffen. I haven't had to walk or ride a bike to work since I got Ol' Bertha, my 2005 Honda Civic. I saved up every penny I worked for at the coffee shop, other than buying food and essentials, till I was sixteen and got my license. I didn't care that she was 10 years old when I got her, she was mine, all mine.

Paul did everything to help me. He was the one to push me to get my permit at fifteen, teaching me how to drive in his Chevrolet truck. Lisa was there most of the time too, backseat driving, telling Paul how to teach me. She even stepped in a couple times to be the driving instructor, but Paul wanted full credit in shaping me into the driver I had become. I will never forget the smile he gave me as I jumped up and down in excitement when I passed my driving test.

He looked so proud.

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