Replaceable Timelines: Book 1. [COMPLETED]

Chapter 11: Decay

I open my eyes and outstretch my hand in front of my face while lying on my bed. There's a pool of sweat beneath me, my entire body feels drained and fatigued. The small amount of light that escapes the drapes of my window is still dark. It looks like the sun hasn't risen yet or is on the verge of rising.

I take a good long look at my room and remember its just the same as I'd left it all those years ago.

I know why I was crying when I saw my mom for the first time waking up a few months ago, why joking with her and dad and Thea made me feel so happy. Just being here at home, makes me feel so much warmth.

The memories come in gradually and begin surging with greater intensity. It feels like I'm about to explode from all the information coming at once.

I know why when I spend time with Austin, I felt so sad and so happy. All these feelings are twisted up inside me. Everything is coming undone now. I remember. My past life, my dream when I first came back to this time. Why I felt so out of touch with reality? Even why I wanted that light on my first day.

I died.

I really died and was reincarnated. By that, thing. Or it's more like I was reverted to a time where I'm capable of changing the future.

"This was all in its plan, huh? Me finding purpose, making friends, changing my path..."

"So that I have something to fight for? I remember dying with nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Not a single friend to call on, no family members to turn to in my time of need. The only thing I had in my day-to-day life was the drugs. They're the only reason I'd get out of bed, securing more was the only purpose I felt I had. Finding more, finding a way to get money so I can get high and forget.

I was an addict.

I remember dying now. I remember everything.

I was 20 years old. Far into the future from my current self. I remember every thought and fear that I held in my heart as I died.

I'd thrown away my life, for a life of solitude and addiction. Maybe it wasn't so much "Throwing away" as it was "succumbing to".

My thoughts at that time...

"I feel as though I'm no longer living."

Both figuratively and literally, the latter will have to be further elaborated on as this initial monolog ends. That's all I can do right now anyway, isn't it funny? To be monologuing away.

20 years old, without a single fucking thing to show for it. No friends, no achievements. I've pushed away every single person who ever loved me.

My body is no longer, or maybe it never was, a sanctuary to which I've upheld a higher standard. If anything, it's dilapidated and in a constant state of disrepair.

"I'm not sure where I went wrong. Maybe it started in high school, maybe it was before then. Maybe it was dad's inability to love anyone, maybe it was mom's stresses that carried onto me. Or maybe it was that fucker... I don't remember his name now. Eli. Getting me further and further into drugs."

"He was jealous of me for dating that one girl and got me into coke and heroine as a way to make me weaker, so I was dependent on him. Until he got what he needed and discarded me like that..."

"He knew my weaknesses, he said we'd sell drugs. I grew up poor, so having money was something I always wanted. If I just had enough, I could make my own life somehow..."

Or maybe it was me.

It's sobering to acknowledge your own shortcomings and hold yourself accountable for them.