Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 313(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“Are you okay?” she asks me cautiously, resting a hand on my arm, trying to comfort me. And I do what I shouldn’t. I lie.
“I’m okay,” I tell her softly, reaching up to squeeze her hand.
As I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a gust of wind flies by us and a bolt of lightning splits the sky into pieces, followed a few seconds later with the hard crack of thunder.
Karen looks up, and in an instant the light gray clouds darken and cue the storm to set in. It’s only the two of us left here and it looks like the weather won’t have us here any longer, leaving Marie all alone. I think deep inside that’s how she wanted it all along. She didn’t want a shrink to give her advice.
Who was I to help her? The guilt washes through me and the back of my eyes prick with unshed tears as I take in a shuddering breath, shoving my hands in my pockets and turning back to her grave.
As much as I’d like to believe I’ll let her rest now, I know I’ll be back. It’s selfish of me. She just wanted to be left alone. She needed that so her past could fade into the background. I know that now; I wish I knew it then.
“She’s in a better place,” Karen whispers and my gaze whips up to hers. She doesn’t have the decency to look me in the eyes and I have to wonder if she just said the words because she thinks they’re appropriate. Like it’s something meant to be said when talking of the dead, or maybe she really believes it.
Karen turns to walk toward her car as the sprinkling of rain starts to fall onto us. She looks back over her shoulder, waiting for me and I relent, joining her.
I’m sorry, Marie.
As the cold drops of rain turn to sheets and my hair dampens, my pace picks up. It doesn’t take long until we’re both jogging through the grass and then onto the pavement of the parking lot, our heels clicking and clacking on the pavement with the sound of the rain.
I barely hear her say goodbye and manage a wave behind me as I open my car door and sink into the driver seat.
I just wanted to help Marie. I could see so much of myself in her. We were almost the same age. She had the same look in her eyes. The same helplessness and lack of self-worth. I wanted to save her like my psychiatrist saved me.
But how could I? I’m not over my past. I should have known better. I should have referred her to someone more capable. Someone who had less emotional investment. I pushed too hard. It’s my fault.
The pattering of rain on the car roof is eerily rhythmic as I dig through my purse, shivering and shoving the wet hair out of my face. The keys jingle as I shove them into the ignition, turning on the car and filling the cabin with the sounds of the radio.
I’m not sure what song’s on but I don’t care because I’m quick to turn the radio off. To get back to the silence and the peace of the rainfall. I slump in my seat, staring at the temperature gauge. When I look up, I see Karen drive away in the rearview mirror. Watching her car drive out of sight, my eyes travel to my reflection.
I scoff at myself and wipe under my eyes. I look dreadful. My dirty blonde hair’s damp and disheveled, my makeup’s running. I lift the console and grab a few tissues to clean myself up before sluggishly removing my soaked jacket and tossing it in the backseat. The heater finally kicks on, and I still can’t bring myself to leave.
I look back into the mirror and see that I’m somewhat pulled together, but I can’t hide the bags under my eyes. I can’t force a false sense of contentment onto my face.
I close my eyes and take in another deep breath, filling my lungs and letting it out slowly. I need sleep. I need to eat. It’s been almost a week since I found out about Marie. A week of her no longer being here to call and check in on. Tears stream freely down my cheeks. I tried so hard not to cry; I learned a long time ago that crying doesn’t help, but being forced to leave her is making me helpless to my emotions.
That first night I almost cried, but instead I resorted to sleeping pills. A wave of nausea churns in my stomach at the thought of what I did. It was so easy to just take one after the other. Each one telling me it’d be over soon. After downing half the bottle, I knew what I was doing. But the entire bottle was too much and it all came back up before I could finish it. Thank God for that. I’m not well, and I’m sure as hell not in a position to help others.