Piece by Piece

10. In Your Corner

Millie definitely shouldn't have drank so much. Or smoked weed. It wasn't something she usually did. As a matter of fact, the her from twelve hours ago would be appalled at her present-self's lack of sense.

But then again, it was past-Mille who had brought her into this mess by planting horrible thoughts into her head.

She wasn't good enough. She had no one. She missed Maman so much. And Max was no help. He didn't feel the pressure to be perfect, quite the contrary. It was as if he did everything in his power to be her opposite in every way. So it fell on her to make their mother proud.

Except, she couldn't. Davyn, as annoying and rude as he was, had a point. What she was doing wasn't special.

She just wanted to let it all go for once, and it had translated into this mess which swirled her reality and made it hard to focus.

She'd probably said something wrong, which was why Davyn had left like that, but she couldn't be bothered to figure out what it was, nor care.

She was too busy with her confusion, the slight nausea, and the unexplainable bit of relief. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of the world wasn't on her shoulders. And not because she felt that she could do anything, but because nothing mattered. Who cared what she did anyway?

Her legs shook, so it became tricky to keep her balance on the tilted roof. She dragged her butt a little lower down, hoping to find a better form of balance. For a moment, she lingered. The darkness below was so tempting, an instant escape from everything. The thought only lasted a moment before she shook her head. She would never do that to Maman and Max. They deserved better than to hurt again, even if that would mean she would no longer feel or care.

It was about time she got back inside before her thoughts turned stupider than they already were. By that time it was obvious that Davyn wasn't coming back. The thought hurt for some reason, even if she couldn't say she enjoyed his company. But it had been nice having someone to talk to, even if that someone was a jerk.

With a sigh, she flicked the rest of the joint into the darkness, watching the tiny lit end flicker and die as it hit the pavement below. Next, she glanced at the bottle of bourbon. After giving it some thought, she tossed it off the roof as well. Way easier to pretend she had no idea where it was then watch Karen theorizing about who drank out of her bottle. She shouldn't even have a bottle in the first place, so serves her right.

After the traces of her misdeeds were swallowed by the night, she dragged her butt across the shingles and towards the open window. She plunged butt-first inside the room which was still empty, then dragger herself to her bed which lay thankfully right next to the window. Her thoughts were jumbled.

As she closed her eyes, her mind chose to focus on Davyn and the pain on his face when he mentioned his father and his family. She'd never thought he'd be like that, that he would care enough to be broken. That there was reason behind all the noise and the anger. That it was helplessness pushing him to be a jerk rather than malice.

Their conversation was still hazy in her mind, but there was something that Millie had picked up on which was crystal clear. He was alone. The good looking, talented, popular boy was alone. Just like her. And he needed someone in his corner. Just like her.

The darkness behind her eyelids started spinning, bringing with it a sense of motion sickness. She frowned and sat up, but it felt even worse, her entire body trembling and her teeth clattering. And then, she knew what would happen.

Forcing her body to move, Millie made her way to the door and across the hall, into the nearest bathroom. The first stall was fortunately empty, so she could drop to her knees and let it out. The vomit burned its way up her throat and tears streamed down the sides of her face. The horrid taste of pot seemed to fill every inch of her. She was so uncoordinated, her hands slipped off the toiletseat and she almost hit her forehead against the edge of the bowl.