#1 in Indie Romance
#3 in Rockstar Romance
*COMPLETED*
After the accident that ripped her family apart, Rebekka Rose has not been the same anymore. Everything feels different, it's much... Lonelier. She's detached from life, and so far no one can...
Song Recommendation: "Dirty Old Town" by Craig Cardiff
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Final Hope Bekka
Sleep was a wonderful thing. It made time pass quickly. You felt nothing while you were sleeping. Just silent bliss. It was probably the closest thing you could get to death without dying. Only if I could sleep forever. Nothing would hurt anymore. No hardships. . . nothing.
I was depressed, surely. I felt it in my bones, the urge to start my day was no longer there. I wanted to stay in bed all day. I don't remember the last time I showered, the last tike I ate. Hunger, wasn't a feeling anymore. None of this was. I stayed in bed for hours, lit a cigarette or two, took a few pills.
The meds wore off faster each time. I was going through them like candy. I looked at the bottle on my nightstand. I laughed to myself. The irony. I avoided drugs for so long, but here I was, finding myself at the bottom of a perscription bottle. I was running out. I had no more left.
Why? How so fast?
I needed more. I had to call Dylan. He needed to give me more. I got up and darted to the bathroom. I checked my cabinets. Nothing. No more. I frowned. I felt heat coming from the bottom of my feet, rising higher. This was anger. I was pissed. I needed more meds. I needed to feel happy to be numb from sadness and mourning. I needed to hit something. I narrowed my eyes at the glass cabinet. My fist pounded into the glass. Again.
One.
Two.
Three.
More. More. More. I kept hitting the glass, the pain was bubbling around my hand, but I ignored it. I wanted to feel something other than this hurt. Why I couldn't be happy? Did I not deserve it? What have I done to have my mother die and Wes kiss another girl? What more could I possibly handle? My whole family was gone, what more did I have left? Why was life this fucking cruel to me?
I fell to my knees and clutched my fist. Blood welled up in the cut on my hand. I leaned against the sink as tears threatened to fall. I wasn't even crying anymore. I felt the need to, but nothing fell. No tears, nothing. Just dry sobs. I grabbed a towel hanging from the shower door. I wrapped it around my hand.
Walking over to my phone, I sent a quick text to Dylan. I hoped he would answer quickly. My eyes wandered to the pack of Marlboro I had on my nightstand. I need a smoke. Something to take this feeling away. I pulled out a cig with one hand and grabbed a lighter, lighting up.
I took a long drag and I felt my nerves calm down slowly. My phone sounded, I plucked it from my bed and skimmed the text. Dylan would get me more tomorrow, he was busy today. I frowned and begged him if he could deliver today.
Looking at the bottle again, I read the label. I wasn't supposed to go through it so quickly. Next time, I would have to pace myself. This wasn't good. "Fucking ass," I murmured to myself.
