Yours Truly, Ramona

chapter seven | better alone.

*possible trigger warning*

~

I wake up the next morning with a pounding headache.

"Ah, fuck," I moan as I stretch my arms.

Luis is laying next to me, scrolling through his phone without a care in the world.

"Morning, sunshine."

I slap his arm aggressively.

"Shut up, asshole."

"Well, aren't you a joy."

I check the time, keeping in mind that I'm expected at the courthouse around one.

"Oh my god, it's noon?!" I practically leap out of the bed, immediately regretting my decision of getting up so quickly due to the thumping sensation in my head.

"Actually, it's 11:48," Xavier says from across the room.

I glare at him for a moment before picking up my bag. I can't be bothered to respond to his smartass comment as I collect my blunt and my shoes.

"You're leaving already?" Luis pouts while looking up at me from the bed.

"I have places to be."

"Alright... bye buddy!" He waves at me with a stupid smile plastered across his face.

I shake my head, unamused by his happy attitude.

"Yeah, I'm leaving. Goodbye."

I walk out of Xavier's house and just around the block to Marta's, where I can see Allen's car in the driveway.

"This should be interesting," I mutter under my breath as I walk up the driveway.

I open the door, and astonishingly, there's no yelling. When I walk into the kitchen, I actually see the two of them talking over a cup of coffee like a normal, civilized married couple. And although it looks like a rather tense conversation, it's still better than yelling.

"You still giving me a ride to the courthouse?" I ask Marta awkwardly from the doorframe.

She pauses for a moment.

"You can't just walk? It's a little warmer today."

I purse my lips and try my best to hold in my irritation.

"Yeah. Whatever."

"Wait, Ramona—I'll take you," Allen says, although he's probably only doing it to get out of whatever awkward conversation he's having with Marta.

I nod and turn around to go to my room. I desperately need a shower as I reek of alcohol and weed. I go to my room and throw my things on my bed while hurrying to prepare myself a warm, relaxing shower.

Any image of relaxation is gone once I turn on the shower faucet, though, as a wave of intense nausea hits me like a brick. I bend down and puke into the toilet, regretting my decision of drinking so heavily last night.

Before I step into the hot shower, I grab my blade from the cabinet as a sudden to cut myself creeps up on me.

It's strange how suddenly a craving to cut can hit. There could be nothing wrong in my life and I'd still find a way to hate myself. I'm honestly not even that upset over anything, yet I still find myself wanting to slit my wrists.

I don't even have a good reason for doing it; I just feel like I need to. But then again, there really never is a good reason for cutting yourself in the first place. 

Maybe it's the memory of Joseph's hands all over me, or maybe it's the hole in my heart from Mason being gone. I don't know anymore, honestly. All I know is that this will make me feel as good as the alcohol did.