II

I’ve been burning up since you left.

I’ve just finished painting my nails, sitting in one of those rolling office chairs in front of my desk. There’s music playing in the background, because of course there is. There isn’t a minute that I’m not thinking about music.

I’m home alone, but that isn’t really anything new. I usually am, and that isn’t the best atmosphere for kids like me. It’s easy for me to disconnect myself, to feel like I’m the only one that’s real.

Wish I was younger, back to the nineteenth of May.

I chuckle. Of course Sam Smith would somehow know to mention one of the worst numbers of my life. Nineteen. The nineteenth. Nine teeth. It feels like nine teeth are starting to burrow into my skin. Each one tempting a different spot.

The feeling has been there a lot, recently. Two days ago I was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling praying just to feel something. I heard jokes I normally would have laughed at, and instead met their trying smiles with a blank expression. People I loved poured their hearts out to me, and the words of affection that spewed out of my mouth felt like nothing but lies. So instead I said nothing.

If you ever called, I would run straight back. Give you my forgiveness and the shirt off my back.

I glance at the folded knife that lay a foot in front of me. No, I shouldn’t, and yet… It’s been almost three and a half months since everything happened. I still haven’t fully recovered from that night, but I have to pretend I have. I was given my grieving period, but I guess people only find your pain deserving of sympathy for a few weeks. Since then, everything regarding that day has been locked tight.

Had respect for myself, that river ran dry.

I feel tears. I don’t know if I was strong enough to keep them in, or too emotionless to let them go, but they don’t fall.

Then I feel a tap on the side of my chair. It’s my dog, a shih tzu that was the runt of the litter, barely 8 pounds. She’s black and white with big brown eyes.

Without waiting for a sign of confirmation from me, she jumps onto my lap, and stands on her hind legs so she can reach my face. She licks me, and licks me, and the tears finally fall onto her fur. I put the knife back onto my desk, and hold her. This isn’t exactly a new situation; I’ve cried with her many times. But this time is different. It is because prior to the moment she was on my lap, she was upstairs, eating food.

I don’t know how she knew. But I do know that people can have “silly” reasons to be okay.

My dog is mine.