Celestia

13

Three Months Later

As I place my empty dinner plate and fork into the kitchen sink, I hear the rattle of a pill bottle in the living room. It's been the same two-step routine every evening for three months now: dinner, then pills. Mom sees to it every night that I take my pill because she knows if I have the choice, I won't. Last month I tried to quit taking them, but she figured it out.

I refill my water cup and take it back into the living room with me. Mom shoves her hand out at me from the sofa, the little white capsule in her palm ready to go. "Take your pill right quick."

I take it and toss it into the back of my mouth, take a big drink of water, then swallow. All the while, Mom watches like a hawk.

"Let me see," she demands.

I open my mouth and stick my tongue out. She peers in, then gives me a nod. "Just making sure."

"You always make sure," I mutter as I sit my cup down on the coffee table.

"I have to or you won't take it!" She exclaims. "It's like you don't want to get better. I'm worried, Autumn."

"They make me feel weird," I shrug. "You shouldn't worry. You know I'm taking them now." I turn to head for the bathroom. Our conversation ends there, thank goodness. I shut the bathroom door behind me and stick my thumb and index finger into my mouth. I wrestle the capsule out from under my tongue and drop it into the toilet. A quick flush and it's gone for good.

I emerge from the bathroom a minute later and walk back to the living room, where Mom is still sitting on the couch, her attention turned to Wheel of Fortune on the television. I stand to the side.

"Hey Mom, can I take your car for a drive?" I ask innocently.

She turns her head to look at me. "Where to?"

"Just around town. I was thinking about going to Sonic for a cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper. I want to get out of the house."

It is true. I feel like I have cabin fever. Ever since the accident, I've barely left the house except to go to my appointments with Dr. Patel and school. I've basically been on an unofficial house arrest. Not to mention, for the first two weeks after I was released from the medical hospital, I was forced to stay in a psychiatric hospital until they deemed me mentally sane enough to go home.

 Mom shakes her head with a contorted expression. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea. You haven't driven since your accident." 

"I have to get back to normal sometime, Mom, and the sooner, the better. I want to put all this behind me."

"Well alright," she caves with a sigh. "Be back in an hour or I'll worry."

I nod. "Alright."

"And be careful!" She cautions me as I walk toward the front door. 

I slip into my Converses, pluck my hoodie from the coat rack, and grab the car keys from the hook on the wall beside the door. "I will. Be back later."

"Love you!" Mom calls as I walk out. The door swings shut behind me.

I pull to the side of the dirt road near the overgrown fencing and put the Nissan Maxima in park. The field to my left is yellow and withered from the winter's cold. The sky is overcast and gloomy gray. I switch the ignition off and swipe the half-empty glass bottle from the passenger seat that was previously stashed underneath. It sloshes loudly. When I open the door, I'm met with the chill of the forty-some degree air. My hoodie is thick enough to keep the cold out, but it bites through my jeans and the gentle wind nips at my nose. I like it.

Bottle in hand, I cross the road and jump the rusty metal gate blocking the grassy drive-in, ignoring the No Trespassing sign that hangs on it. Then, like I had done countless times with Sawyer in the past, I make the long walk across the field to the pond, only this time I walk alone.

I plop down on the ground a short distance from the pond bank, near the ash pile of the latest party's campfire. I twist the top off of the bottle of liquor and tip it back against my lips - my first drink since everything happened. The foul liquid sloshes down my gullet in a large gulp. I grimace as it goes down, then cap the bottle back and set it to the side. It falls over. I do the same, pressing my back into the cold, hard dirt and closing my eyes as I imagine making out with Sawyer in this very spot last summer, the taste of liquor mixing with the smell of his cologne.

"So, you're not taking your medication now?" His voice comes out of nowhere, but it doesn't startle me. It's music to my ears. I grin to myself, then open my eyes and turn to the right, where I find Sawyer lying in the grass next to me, still in his letterman, his gaze fixed on mine. He shakes his head, but he can't hide his smirk. "Same old Autumn, doing whatever the hell you're not supposed to."

"I can't see you when I take the pills."

"That's the point," he chuckles.

I reach out and grab hold of his hand, squeezing it tight in mine. I need to feel him to know he's here; to know he's real. "I was starting to think I'd never see you or Aurora again. This is the first time since-"

He interrupts me. "I know - since you woke up."

I sigh, unable to tear my eyes away from him. "My psychiatrist says you're my second personality." 

"She seems smart," he nods and turns his face to the sky.

"How would you know?"

"Because I see everything you see, and I hear everything you hear. I'm a part of you. She's right. You should take your medication."

"I know."

"You know a lot of things," he retorts.

I answer, "I don't know how I'm supposed to go on in a world where my family doesn't exist." 

That's when he looks at me again. He rolls over so he's facing me and props himself up on an elbow, then pulls my hand to his lips and kisses it. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah."

"As long as we exist to you, then the rest of the world doesn't matter."

Suddenly, I feel a small hand on my left arm. I look to find Aurora lying on the other side of me in her blue dress.

"Hi Mommy," she smiles. "I missed you."

"Hey! I missed you too!" I lean over to give her a peck on the lips. "It's too cold for you to be in that dress! Daddy didn't get you a jacket?" I glance back at him.

He shrugs. "I wasn't sure we were staying."

"Are we ever going to go back home, Mommy? I miss Celestia."

I grab her hand in my left, and Sawyer's hand in my right. I stare up at the sky - at the infinite space above us. Somewhere up there is home. 

"Maybe one day," I answer her. "For now, we have to stay here, okay? As long as we're together, that's all that matters."

Life isn't perfect. I'm not perfect, but for what it counts...I'm here.