Page 81 of Like A Moth To A Flame

The reflection in the mirror seemed to mock me, a stark reminder of the unraveling mess that had become my life. I turned away, not wanting to face the truth that lingered in those haunted eyes. Peering into the bathtub, I was greeted with pink-stained, ice-cold water. Reaching in, I shivered as I pulled the plug and watched it swirl away.

Kind of like my life. It was going down the drain.

I chuckled at my own joke, and at first, it was dry and humorless. Then, it slowly began to morph into something else, a deep, hearty hyena laugh that had me questioning my sanity.

I shut my mouth with a snap and stepped into the shower, ripping the curtain closed and twisting on the tap as hot as it would go.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Had something in my head finally snapped?

As the steam filled the room and wrapped around me like a comforting embrace, I closed my eyes and tried to float away. The sound of the water pounding against the tiles drowned out the thoughts that clawed at the edges of my mind, desperate to pull me back into that dark abyss.

I needed out of this house. I needed a break. I needed to see the sunlight and talk to people.

A sudden thought struck me.

Talk to people.

The journal.

As quickly as I could, I washed. I scrubbed my hair and did what I could to get the tangles out. Some of them would stay, but I had to be presentable at best. I scrubbed the makeup from my face, washed what mattered and quickly jumped out, toweling dry.

I had to hurry up. I didn’t know what time it was, but I couldn’t miss her.

Twenty-five minutes later, I was in the car, dressed in another one of Mom’s old dresses, and a pair of wedge sandals. After looking in the mirror, I’d slapped some more makeup on, more so I wouldn’t look crazy than anything.

It was nearly three in the afternoon already. I’d slept most of the morning.

I pulled out onto the main road and whipped the wheel to the side, over-correcting and nearly fishtailing. Shaking out a deep sigh, I shook my head and eased up off the accelerator. I was too on edge. I needed to calm down, by the shaking in my hands and the whirlwind circles in my brain wouldn’t let me.

I pulled into Mae’s Diner, killed the engine, and reached into the passenger seat, grabbing my dad’s journal. I needed answers. I needed to know if I was right.

On shaking legs, I made my way inside, and somehow, in some glorious way, it was empty.

Moving toward the counter, I placed the journal on the granite and slipped into one of the stools just as Mae came around the corner, pad in hand. One look at me, and the cheerful look on her weathered face fell into a concerned frown.

“Hey, darlin’,” she said, leaning across the counter. “You alright? Look like you been chewed up and spat out half digested.”

I managed a weak smile, trying to shake off the lingering heaviness in my chest.

“Hey, Mae. I’m… okay, I think. Just had a rough morning,” I replied, my voice shaking.

I didn’t even believe myself.

Mae’s expression softened, her eyes full of concern.

“Well, you sit tight, sweetheart. How about I make you some of that peach cobbler you used to love? On the house,” she offered, already turning back towards the kitchen.

I nodded gratefully, watching her disappear behind the swinging doors before turning my attention back to the journal sitting in front of me. With trembling hands, I flipped it open to the page I’d marked. The familiar scent of old paper and ink wafted up to greet me as I flipped through the worn pages, each one filled with his precise handwriting. The words blurred together as my mind raced with questions and doubts. Was I really onto something with this journal, or was it all just a desperate grasp for something to make sense?

By the time she returned with my cobbler, I’d shut the journal and sat at the counter, contemplating my life choices.

“Here ya go, sweetheart,” she said, sliding the plate across the counter toward me. It was piled high with fresh peachcobbler that Mae made herself from scratch, topped with whipped cream—Redi Whip, from a can. Just the way I liked it.

I carved out a forkful but stopped before it got to my mouth. Something in my stomach churned.

“Alright, hun,” she said, pulling the chair from behind the register and sliding up to me. “What’s botherin’ ya? I can feel it all around you like a black cloud.”

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