Till Sunset Do Us Part

Chapter 17 ~ Black and White Photographs

I opened my eyes again that following Thursday. I was back in my own bed again -- still fighting the memories. I left all memories of everything behind, all but the ones I'd kept so close to my heart. I must've passed out from exhaustion last night, because I'd know better than to sleep in my bed if I was truly conscious. Now, waking up, I breathed in his scent off the sheets and comforter. I tried to ignore it, looking throughout the room for something that had no memory of him.

Thankfully, Nathan ran into my room before I finally gave up. "Rita! Come on! Presents! Santa came!"

I lifted myself confused. "What?" I had no idea of what the date was. I didn't pay attention. Is it really Christmas already?

"Come on!" He pulled on my arm, pressing for me to get up. I obeyed, walking out of the room and up the stairs to find grandparents, aunts, and uncles all gathered in my living room. My dad was kneeled at the tree, passing out gifts. Everyone had a smile on their face. It saddened me -- even more than I already was. I wanted to be so much like them in that very moment.

So I forced a smile on my face, pretending to be one of the normal people. It worked for the most part. I even had myself fooled at one point. That fake happiness was the closest to any different emotion I had lately. It hurt to know that at the end of that day, I'd remember to sleep on the floor of my own bedroom.

My parents didn't bother me much. And even though it doesn't seem like the right thing to do, I thank them for it. Everything happens for a reason, I have found. And there must've been something telling them that I'd be okay. I fear that if they did intervene I wouldn't be the person I am today. Or even here at all. I was in a fragile state. I didn't want to do anything. I barely talked to my family. Everyone could tell a difference in me when we had company over. I was cheerful, unusual; there wasn't a thing wrong with me. I was even social until they left. But when they did, I'd nod to my parents and walk solemnly back down the stairs into my room.

I did go out with Rochelle and Ryan on New Year's though. And how I regretted it was beyond explanation. I saw him there, at Cooper's. He was with Rose. At the sight of me, she kissed him full on. Hurt, I turned away almost in tears. Before Rochelle could get off the approach and see that something was wrong, I grabbed the box of cigarettes out of my pocket that I bought earlier that day. There were so tempting at the time. I used my fake ID to get them and kept them just in case. That was the case. I quickly lit one and sucked in. There was a slight high of nicotine that was almost immediately masked by a choking gust of smoke. I coughed hard, making tears build around my eyes. Rochelle was finally aware of what was going on. She was shocked as she watched me take in another puff of nicotine, and that deadly smoke.

"Rita LeeAnn!"

I rolled my eyes -- not at her, but at the words and the memories that came with them. I inhaled again, then exhaled a little smoother. The taste was still unbearable, but I forced it upon myself. At the time I didn't know why. But knowing what I do now, I realize that it was what I thought I deserved. My punishment for whatever I did wrong in our relationship.

Despite the havoc I caused, Rochelle stayed over that night. She was the one guest I didn't have to pretend in front of. She did remind me of Trent, but she reminded me of the innocent side of him. I think that helped me believe that that part of him was real, and that it wasn't all just an act. That night we ended up going to her house after she pressed that Trent had moved out. I was surprised at that. I thought he loved it there.

"He just wasn't himself. When I heard him discussing it to my mom in the kitchen one night, he said something about too many memories."

I found that even harder to believe. What is he running away from? He was the one who dumped me. Walking through that door, I was haunted by the same things. I could see us on the couch, cuddling up, watching movies, telling Rochelle about "us". It was all overcoming.

Those visions of the past were replaced by the present one: Rochelle's dad watching T.V., her mom in the kitchen. Walking by his door was the hardest part. Memories of the first night that we slept in the same bed flashed in my mind.

"You don't have to worry about that with me," his ghost promised. He promised.

"Go ahead and go back to the car. I'll be out in a second."

I smiled at Rochelle, so gratefully of her understanding. I walked as fast as I could to her car, nodding and waving a "Thanks" and "Goodbye" to her parents. After I fell into the passenger seat of her car, I broke down. It was the first time back home that I let myself fall victim. I then knew that I was weak, that I couldn't muddle through like I was. But that was how I kept at it. I tried to toughen myself up. I wanted to be able to withstand anything. I didn't want to be hurt again.

But, in result, I found myself searching for new ways to do it daily; pushing the boundaries to illegal alcohol consumption. But none of it was ever done a second time. They were my first and last puffs and gulps. Starving myself was the only one that stuck. I can't remember -- if there ever was -- the reason to it or a conclusion that explained it. Maybe I thought that he would like me better if I was skinnier? All I can say now is that people do stupid things when they're in love.