Page 52 of Kylan

No matter how much I tried to lock this pain down, it kept seeping its way to the surface.

Raw and jagged, both aching and sharp.

I always knew it would hurt.

But I had no idea it would be this bad.

I crawled into my bed, pulled the covers over my head, and let the darkness have me.

I don’t knowhow long I slept.

I don’t know if I slept at all.

I don’t remember Fitch coming in the first time, but there was a glass of water by my bed and some crackers.

I do remember him sitting on my bed, his hand stroking my hair.

I don’t remember what he said. I don’t remember speaking. I don’t think I did.

I don’t remember if it was dark outside the window or light or when or if it changed.

I couldn’t get up. I could barely fucking breathe.

All I wanted to do was sleep.

It was all I was capable of doing.

But then Fitch was pulling my covers back and pulling my arm to sit me up. “Come on, Kysie. I need you to get up. Just sit up for me.”

God, my body hurt.

He put the glass of water to my mouth and made medrink. “Come on, just sip it. There you go,” he whispered. “I made you some toast and butter. Take a bite.”

I bit it, chewed it, struggled to swallow it, and he made me sip some more water.

“I’m worried about you,” he said, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

“They don’t want me,” I whispered, barely able to speak.

Fitch deflated with a sigh. “Oh man.”

“I’m just . . .”

Fucked up.

Broken.

Not good enough.

Never good enough.

Lost.

Hollowed out and irreparable.

Unlovable.

“So tired,” I mumbled, lying back down.

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