XXIII. All I Have

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n. this is how i imagined Alexis. you might have or might have not imagined her like this, but i just recently found this picture that perfectly describes how i imagined her.

Alexis;

I follow my own instinct very rarely. Probably because I've never had to make big decisions. Everything was just given and done in my life, and I'd sit there without an ounce of objection. I wake up in the warm, faded floral sheets of the room I've spent most of the summer in. Since last night, I can't shake off an exhaustion that pulls me to sleep every time I tried to stand and be productive.

Productive, how? I've got nothing to do other than be babied by Nonna. She's brought me food and hot tea all day. I love her deeply and appreciate her concern, but I don't want her to worry. I sigh heavily and rub my eyes, shuffling out the sheets and stepping my bare feet onto the cool wooden floorboards.

First thing I do is get in the shower, cold water pelts against my chilled skin until I turn the water on warm. I sniffle lightly, letting the soft steam the evaporates into the air lessen the stiffness and roughness in my eyes. Then I get changed, awfully same routine. Big t-shirt and a pair of light blue cotton shorts.

I step downstairs for a minute to see Nonna sleeping on the couch, the TV remote still tightly clutched in her hand. I smile lightly at her appearance. Grey hair over her face, mouth wide open while she snored loudly. My lips press tightly together while in the kitchen, preparing a sandwich for myself as I'm too lazy to cook an actual meal. Neither do I feel like cleaning after myself.

Sandwich midway done, the doorbell rings. I stiffen immediately, warily standing and walking to the window. For a second I'm convinced it's Harry, and my heart leaps up into my throat out of nervousness and anxiety. I don't want to see him, but at the same time I want to see him give his all to apologize and get me to fall back into my lovey, dovey trance. But I can't be that naive. Not anymore.

With one glance at the long hair that belongs to Myra, I sigh in relief and head towards the front door. When I swing the door open Myra's worried facial expression confronts mine, and at once glance at my deathly pale complexion and tired bags underneath my eyes, she instantly wraps her arms around me. Tightly squeezing me, a tumble of apologies and "are you okay's" rushing through her lips.

I grab a hold of her arms, pulling them off of me. She watches me carefully, upholding eye contact every second I speak. "I'm fine," I murmur with a soft laugh.

"That can't be true," she states softly. "Not the way things ended last night. I'm sorry I didn't come right away, I just...my mom--"

I shake my head. "You didn't have to. Plus, I didn't really want to talk to anyone."

Myra nods silently, and our conversation disappears into an uncomfortable silence. That is until she bites her lip and blurts, "I'm sorry about Harry. He's...not good at not...ruining things."

I don't know how to respond, so I just nod gradually. "You don't have to defend him," I say softly. "No one really should. I just wish he hadn't..." I swallow down the painful lump in my throat, feeling a familiar stinging in my eyes. I've done enough of that last night, but I have more from where that came from.

"It was an asshole move," she agrees. "But I can't bear to see things turn out like this."

I blink rapidly, trying to get rid of the tears while I avert my eyes behind her. Feeling more comfortable breaking the eye contact while I try to fight off these tears that so stubbornly still rush down my cheeks. My mouth parts, and I try to speak, but it comes out stammered and full of emotion. Eventually, my eyebrows furrow and I'm just at the point of crying. "I feel...used?"

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