A/N: Potentially disturbing and non-author-approved content ahead. There are always people who care and who will help, sometimes you just have to look to find them.
“I’m sorry.” She is sorry, but how could she have done better, how could she have known? It’s the first time she’s messed up here, isn’t it? Well…no. She bites her lip and lowers her eyes to the ground.
“You’re fired.” She swings her eyes up, shocked, but wishes as soon as it was too late that she hadn’t. The look of disgusted contempt stings more even than the words. She thought this boss had liked her. She thought she had been satisfactory.
With tears in her eyes, she turns away and gathers up her belongings, desperately willing the the tears not to fall till she was by herself and could cry without shame.
underdose of pain, it’s not enough
Driving home, car lights shining in the early gloaming, trying not to think, just wanting to get home. She sucks a breath in fast as someone changes lanes, cutting her off. Reflexively, she slams on her brakes, wincing as the person in the car behind her leans on their horn. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
They veer around her, gesticulating wildly and rudely gesturing at her. She flinches. “I’m sorry,” she tries again. They can’t hear her, of course.
A sinking feeling swirls around in her stomach.
underdose of pain
She frowns as she stares at her phone, idly scrolling past pictures of people she’s supposed to know. Smiling, laughing, ice cream on the beach, a couple kissing framed by the sunset. She pauses over the last picture, thinking.
Quickly she flips to a different app, types several words, and waits. Her stomach is tight like she’s worried. Why is she worried? Three times she checks to see if she has a reply before finally she does.
srry, cant i’m busy
She stares down at the words till they scramble and blur before her eyes. Is he angry with her again? Pain wells up in her chest. She wonders what she did this time. “I’m sorry,” she mouths down at her phone.
Somehow she almost can’t bring herself to care.
underdose of pain
She pushes up from the couch and forces herself into the kitchen. With a vague sort of disconnection, she wonders when she last ate. Yesterday? The day before that? A fuzzy sort of horror settles over her eyes as she considers that it might have been three days ago.
But she’ll eat now and everything will be fine. She glances down at her body and cringes as she sees how prominent her clavicle is. Her fingers reach up and brush over it, sinking down into the recesses on either side. “I’m sorry,” she tells herself.
Painstakingly she creates a beautiful, full plate that she knows will – or should – be appetizing to her. She carries it back out to the couch and sits down, setting it in her lap. The fork is in her hand, the food is right before her, so why isn’t she eating? She grits her teeth and jabs the fork into the center of her omelet. She cuts a bite right out of the center, where it should taste best.
Her breathing is quicker and quicker, shallower and shallower. She lifts the fork to her mouth and forces the food in. Chews once, twice, then swallows the food quickly because it was making her feel so sick. It roils in her stomach and she drops the fork back to her plate.
She surges up from the couch, her plate falling to the floor, shattering, perhaps? But she doesn’t even notice. She runs to the bathroom, falling upon her knees, throwing up that one lonely bite of food that had made it to her stomach.
She sinks backward, lying on the cold floor, sobbing. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
underdose of pain
Finally she makes herself get up, makes herself leave the bathroom, goes back toward the living room where she can clean up her mess. As she passes by her coffee table in the dim light, her foot runs into the leg and she cries out in pain. Suddenly everything is too much.
She screams. No, her foot doesn’t hurt that much. No, she’s not even sorry. She’s screaming and she’s so angry and hurt she doesn’t know what to do. Or doesn’t she? Pain and fear and adrenaline mix together in her stomach, making her shake harder and harder. Is this what not caring feels like?
But I care, she whispers to herself. She cares enough to wish that tomorrow would not be like today.
is this what an overdose of pain feels like?
She stares at her dark bedroom, wondering. She goes in and turns the light on.
The light stays on.