Overdose (BXB) Completed/Editing

Chapter 23 - Platonic

Overdose - Chapter 23

-Alex-

A week has passed since I've been home from rehab. It is now February, and the weather has taken on a bipolar personality. Some days carry a slight chill, but the sun still shines while other days feel as cold as the arctic and snow seems to fall at an unreasonable amount. Yesterday, I saw the sun peek through from an opening in the clouds. It only lasted a few minutes, but it was beautiful. A sign that warmer weather is on its way so I will wait patiently.

My mental health has improved slightly. Of course, some days are better than others but I'm learning to fill my time with less destructive hobbies. I picked up a paintbrush instead of a pencil for the first time. I freed my hands to do however they pleased on a canvas that my dad was kind enough to bring home on his way from work. I painted the skyline of downtown during the sunset. Yellow, orange, pink, and purple were mostly used but I made sure to incorporate other colors. Gray, black, green, and even white for the snow.

I've been waking up earlier which doesn't feel like an accomplishment, but I guess it could be taken as such. Most of the time I lay in bed, stare at the ceiling, and try to imagine myself as someone who has their life figured out. I put more effort into not thinking about my past. When I do, I start thinking about ways to forget and escape. I only know one way to escape my past, it isn't brilliant or effective in the long term, but it worked for me. I'd rather not go back. I'd rather not see the disappointment written in my dad's eyes.

I am learning to like the person staring back at me in the mirror. He's kind of sensitive but he's getting better as the sun rises and sets. He looks familiar, I'm sure I've seen him in my dreams before they turned into nightmares.

The bus comes to a stop and I close my sketchbook before putting it into my bookbag. I spent most of the day sketching random things as I sat under a tree in the park. Most of the branches were bare and the remaining leaves were barely hanging on. It didn't provide much coverage from the snow, but my hood did its job. My dad thought it would be good for me to get out of the house which is contradictory to what my mom thought.

She advised that I stay home because being outside would tempt me to get drugs. I don't blame her for thinking that way because there was a moment of temptation when I was waiting for the bus to arrive. Part of me wanted to head to Chester's, apologize to him, and hope he dropped his savior act. I still think I should apologize to him because he was just trying to do the right thing after months of doing the wrong thing. I also feel terrible for bringing up Jess during our last conversation. I shouldn't have and I could tell that it made him angry. Angry enough to threaten to kill me.

Anyway, I spent the day in the park watching people, sketching, and daydreaming. To me, the day was productive, but I think people who work full-time jobs and those who have kids would beg to differ.

On the way to the bus stop, I started thinking about Nico and how today is Tuesday. If Nico is still Nico, there's only one place I know he would be on a Tuesday night. Church? Yes, but not for the same reason that other people go to church.

I contemplated going to see him the day after I came home but I talked myself out of it. I figured that if I'm trying to save him from the tragedy that is me, maybe I shouldn't bring myself to him. Then what are you doing now? Ignoring my own judgment.

As I walk towards the parking lot, I pull out my phone and notice the time. My dad should be calling any minute to ask where I am. He's been trying his best to give me the space I need but of course, he's failing at it. I'm thankful for the effort, nonetheless.

The sight of Nico's car parked in its usual spot strikes a wave of anxiety which prompts me to start thinking about how it's not too late to turn around. Go home. What's the worst that could happen? It's just Nico. You've said that about someone once upon a time. How did that turn out? Time and time again, my inner thoughts have proven to be my worst critic while also being the only thing that knows me more than anyone else. It makes sense.