Page 25 of Things We Hide from the Light
On an oath, I tossed the lamb in the direction of the living room and watched the dog tear after it in delight.
My shoulder ached. My head pounded. Weariness made my bones feel brittle as if I had suffered a case of the permanent flu. How easy would it be to just sit here on the floor for the rest of whatever time I had left?
There was a loudthunkof the broom handle hitting the floor followed by a pitiful yip and the scrambling of toenails on the floor. Piper reappeared without the sock or the lamb and threw herself in my lap, trembling.
“Fuck me,” I muttered. “You think I’m capable of protecting you from anything? I can’t even protect myself.”
This didn’t seem to concern the little dog as she was too busy burrowing deeper into my crotch.
I sighed. “Okay, weirdo. Let’s go. I’ll save you from the big bad broom.”
I tucked her under my arm and creakily got to my feet, feeling like I was a hundred years old. I dumped the rest of the flower carcasses into the overflowing trash can, snagged the last basket of laundry, and trudged into the bedroom.
“There. Happy?” I asked, putting Piper and the basket on the bed.
She trotted to the head of the bed to my pillow, then curled in a tight ball, tail over nose, and let out a snorty sigh.
“Don’t get used to it. I just dropped eighty-six bucks on a dog bed for you, not to mention the second I can find a foster family, you’re out the door.”
She closed her eyes and ignored me.
“Fine. Keep the bed.”
It wasn’t like I’d been sleeping in it either. Instead, I camped out on the couch, letting the drone of QVC hosts lull me to sleep where the dreams haunted me until I woke again to the dark cloud that never let the light through.
It was a fun and productive cycle.
The mountain of folded laundry—nearly my entire wardrobe—sat there, daring me to ignore it.
“Christ.” How many gray T-shirts did I need? And why in the hell did an even number of socks never make it out of the dryer? Just another of life’s great mysteries that would never be solved. Like what was the point of it all and why did rabbits wait until you got up to speed before darting out in front of you?
The pill bottles on the nightstand caught my eye.
I hadn’t touched the pain pills. But the others, ones for depression, ones for anxiety, had helped in the beginning. Until I’d decided to just embrace that cold, dark emptiness. To wallow in it. To see how long I could survive in its murky depths.
I scraped the bottles into the drawer and shut it.
The dog let out a loud snore and I realized it was dark outside.
I’d made it through another day.
I’d eaten.
I’d cleaned.
I’d talked to people in more than just bad-tempered grunts.
And I hadn’t let anyone see the yawning chasm of emptiness that lived in my chest.
If I could squeeze in a shower and a shave, it would be enough.
Piper’s legs tensed and she let out a sleepy yip. She was dreaming and I wondered if it was a good dream or a nightmare. Careful not to wake her, I tucked the lamb next to her to ward off the bad and then headed into the bathroom.
I turned on the now clean shower and cranked the water temperature before stripping out of my clothes. The pink puckered scars caught my eye in the mirror. One on the shoulder, one on my lower abdomen from the shot that had gone clean through.
My body was healing, at least on the outside. But it was my mind I worried about.
Losing one’s mind and embracing a downward spiral unfortunately ran in the family.
