rays of sunlight // Antoine Griezmann

Chapter 13

I go to Eden's house, as he asked. We do what we always do. We do what I never want to do with him.

Then I go home, feeling empty, like I did before. Like I felt before Antoine came along a few days ago.

Maybe I actually just have to remind myself of Antoine. Maybe that is all I need to do to feel better.

No, it's not, is it? Because I don't think anything can truly make me feel better. Not even Antoine... Despite how much he helps. But he is not here. And I am not his responsibly. He has a life, just like  I should have a life. He's successful, and he has it under control, and because of that, he can help me. But it is not his job to help me. He has other things to take care of, and it's not even near fair for me to just call upon Antoine whenever I'm distressed. Because he volunteers; it's not his job.

These thoughts about him actually just end up making me feel worse, despite the original goal of cheering myself up. Of course. That is just how things are these days in my life, aren't they? Whenever I try to feel better, I just end up feeling worse.

I sigh as  I walk into my house, up to my bedroom, to change out of crumpled clothes I was wearing and into my pajamas, which consists of a cotton shirt and linen pants. 

Even though I wish I could just sleep, erasing myself from this world of suffering, for at least eight hours while the world is dark and silent, I can't seem to. My thoughts buzz like bees in a bee hive, all busy, doing different jobs, all over the place. I would rather sleep. This isn't even pondering. It could more accurately, probably, be compared to panicking, rather than reflecting. If I can't sleep, I would at least like to be thoughtful. Not in the frantic way, but in the soft, gentle way. 

But no. Why? Because I never get what I want. I am deprived of what I desire. Instead, everything that I care about, that I hold dear to me, is always taken away from me.

It's not fair.

It really is not fair.

My dad would say, putting his arms around my shoulders, "Yes, yes, Belle. You're right. It's not fair. But life isn't fair, so you just need to keep trudging, with your head up, right? Shake the dust off your feet. Because what good will complaining do, when instead, you could be striving for the best you can get to?"

I cough. Maybe I choke. But I cry. I certainly cry. Because I love  him. He who got me through everything with the simplest gestures and the sweetest words. And he is gone. He will never be here for me, ever again... And sometimes I feel like I cannot go on without him.

And I'm not even fulfilling his words with my life. I am complaining. I won't shake the dust off my feet. My head is down. I'm depressed, anxious, weak, discouraged, delicate, and angry. Nothing is going right, and I'm sad, and I am complaining.

And I feel as though I am failing my father in that way. Because I am. I am not doing what he would want me to do, and that tears me apart. But with everything I am going through, I don't know if there even is way for me, as it comes to what I know how to do, to not live, feeling, and act in this way. In this way that disappoints my father, if heaven does exist, and he is up there, looking down on me.

If he is, then he's disappointed. He wants me to move on.

Although I guess the have the encouragement that he's not, because if there was a heaven, I would believe in it. Because, out of everything that could make my father disappointed in me, it is that I don't believe in God, and I sure as heck am not going to the pearly gates.

I sigh, rolling over in my bed, feeling uncomfortable, as usual. All I need is a job. It doesn't have to be a good job. But I know that Antoine wants me to get one. But that is also stressing me out. Because I'll be miserable in that job. But I have to get one. Just a cheap one. Not to make money. Just to please Antoine. Because if my father is already disappointed in me to start with, I can't have Antoine also being disappointed in me. That would just be too much, because Antoine, I can actually see. I can touch, and hear. He's here. He's alive. And I will feel his disappointment, not from my head, but straight from him. I will feel it. And I don't think I can bear that. Not will Antoine. Never with Antoine.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will wake up at 7:30 A.M. I will shower, and put on professional, clean, proper clothes. I will do my hair up. I will put on makeup. I will go downstairs and make myself breakfast. Maybe some eggs, on the stove. I will look on my phone, and I will not cry at old pictures, trying to bring back memories that are nothing but concepts now in the present. I will look up where I can get a job. Then I will go outside, get in my car, and drive to work. I will get that job, and I will do it with excellence. My boss with like me, and there will be good co-workers. I won't act upset, because I won't be. I will be Belle Bain, the proper, good, co-worker. I will not be the broken, shattering, torn up Belle. No. I won't. I will be something else, apart from that, and deal with that when I get home.

I have to do this, because what will Antoine say if I don't? Nothing. And silence speaks louder than words. If I do do this, he'll be proud of me. No one has been proud of me, cared about me, for so long, I have to do this. Antoine has been kind, but everyone knows that there is nothing about me to be proud of. In fact, the only accurate adjective I can clearly make out about myself, I'd guess, might be a word like pathetic. Or maybe something worse, even.

So that is what I will do tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

Because I think that might be the only way to keep my sane. To keep me here.

To keep me alive.