Before We Lit It Up

7| Before

I shouldn't be doing this, and I know that this decision is going to come and bite me where it hurts tomorrow. I especially shouldn't be trying it tonight since tomorrow is a school day. Quite frankly, I shouldn't do the other option either. They're both bad. But this one, in the long run, could be beneficial. In the short run, it won't.

It's either sleepless nights or addiction.

It's a lose-lose situation, and I don't know anyone who in their right mind would actually enjoy these types of situations.

It's past midnight – five more hours of this to go – and my mind is too tired to read or paint, but not too tired that I can't down another cup of coffee and make sure I don't fall asleep. Me waking up screaming would be the perfect excuse for him to put me in a psychiatric ward. Not that I think he would, but I never imagined he wouldn't speak to me either.

Which is a shame because while I always loved my mother, I had always aspired to be my father. Before. It was to the point that I would always steal his sunglasses and wear them on my face, over my glasses. When I was five, I had taken one of the disposable razors from his and my mother's sink and 'shaved' the nonexistent hair over my lip to the point it bled. Over the years, though, the sense of copying him became less. Not only because I grew older, but because for all my will and stubbornness, we always butted over everything. He started becoming overprotective, which I never made a big deal out of until I realized that he was only that way with me because I am his daughter and not a son.

That I didn't settle with.

But the final rift that wedged between us was when I was thirteen, and found out that he'd lied. He'd lied about his job. And boy what a lie it was. My mother's death made it worse.

For all the power his "line of business" gave him, he never could save her.

Drinking all the coffee to stay awake is definitely a good decision. Based on how easy it is for my thoughts to veer south, it probably would've only taken five minutes for the night terrors to come back in full force.

The shrill scream.

The sharp crash.

Glass breaking

The ringing silence.

I viciously start the machine again, glad the heater is on, drowning in the whirring of the coffee machine as the warm, dark brown – almost black – liquid pours into the cup. Inhaling deeply, the smell alone is enough to shake off some of the drowsiness, the smoky, strong aroma starting my senses. Without pouring in milk, I down the glass.

And all I can think about is, I'm going to fail school tomorrow. Although, technically, it's today that I'll fail classes.

Well, things could always get worse.

********

As expected, I look like merda. It's not a surprise, and I know that tonight I'm going to cave and take some of those sleep pills. Even though I've been having them consistently and one every night doesn't work anymore, so I need two. The fact that I've clearly developed an addiction to them and suffer from cramps and a migraine right now – the sleeplessness and coffee doesn't help – is enough of a sign.

I'll figure it out, I tell myself, though I'm already planning on waking up earlier tomorrow so I can walk to the pharmacy and get some more without missing school.

When I run out of the times I can get them under my name, I'll just use my father's. Hopefully by the time I run out of that too, I'll have figured something out.