Jasmine
I sigh, sitting up, looking over at Travis who's sleeping. My head is pounding. I get out of bed, open the drawer of my nightstand.
I pull out my bottle of wine, forgoing the cup. I know it's pathetic, but it's really no surprise I turned out this way.
I tried my best, and I think I've done well enough. I'm independent, I go to work, I make my money, I'm a good capitalist worker drone, paying my taxes, filling the whole in my heart with greed.
All my troubles in a burning pile that I pour alcohol on at every business appropriate hour. Sure it makes the fire worse.
But if the fire snags me, I'll just turn my eyes upward.
But he loves me. I believe him, for some reason. I set the bottle down. Drinking is the only thing that makes me feel okay. Even though it's not. I mean it's not terrible. I'm sure I should be grateful. I don't have bad, I really don't.
I look back at Travis. I smile. I like him. But I'm done with the whole love thing. Still, him loving me fills with more intoxication than the strongest liquor.
He's a good guy. I close my eyes. Then again, I've never been a good judge of character.
I get up, getting into the shower. It's early. Just early enough to still be considered night, but too late to be considered day.
I turn the water on, the bathroom filling with steam. The hot water prickles my skin, as I life my face to it.
"Miss?"
I slick hair back. "Yeah?"
"It's mighty early Miss. You okay?"
My lips quirk up despite myself. He always seems to know when I'm at my least okay.
"Yeah, Travis. I'm fine."
"Fine but not okay?" He asks, groggily.
I nod, chuckling. "That's right. Fine, but not okay."
He lets out a sigh, and through the fog I see the tired look on his face. I close my eyes.
"Wes is gonna do the trial," he says eventually.
Thank god. "Good. I'm glad."
"'S not free, is it?" He adds softly, looking away from me. I wonder what he'll do if I tell the truth?
Travis shifts, and I feel the water getting cold, I step out, and he hands me a towel.
"I wish I could find a way to tell you this, a perfect moment. But..."
No.
He looks up at me. "You're...I know you're used to this. This haze you live in. But I'm not. And it's kinda selfish of me, but it hurts to look at."
No.
"What are you saying?" I say softly. But I know. He's saying he's leaving. He's saying I'm too much.
"I'm saying...I can't keep pretending this is normal. I can't keep watching you hurt yourself like this—"
"What are you saying, Travis?"
He swallows roughly. "I love you. And because I love you, I think...we shouldn't see each other. You need help, Miss. "
I walk past him. "Got it. Let yourself out."
"Miss—."
I get back in bed, flipping over. The sheets under me get wet, but it doesn't matter to me. I close my eyes.
"Jasmine, I'm sure if I ignored everything, it'd turn out fine. But I can't. I know it's unfair—"
"Can we talk about this later? You're driving me crazy."
He leaves quietly, saying nothing else but a hushed I love you.
Funny. Whenever people tell me they love me, they hurt me. I sigh. I should sleep. If I want to make enough money to pay this mortgage I can't call out.
All of my savings have long been spent on alcohol. I can't afford to miss work. Fucking sucks. I drink another couple beers, adding this sadness to the burning pile of troubles.
It burns softly, and like the alcohol, it's slightly warm.
Seems like everything is burning around me. So many small fires. And here I am in the middle, just adding to it all.
But what can I do? It'll burn me soon enough. But it doesn't matter.
Sure I'm technically burning alive. But at least it's warm and tastes like Rosé. Yeah, that's not so bad.
