You Make The Pain Fade Away

Chapter One

A week later.

"If you don't come down for breakfast, I'll make sure your Uncle sends you to therapy and grief counseling," Grandma threatened sternly.

Over the past week, all I've been doing is stay in bed and cry. I barely eat and the only times I get up is to use the bathroom. I haven't been outside and I've been motionless.

"It's only been a week! You think I'm over the fact that my parents are..," I trailed off, digging my face into my soft pillow. I didn't want her to see how weak I've become. My Grandma sat down next to me, brushing my hair with her fingers.

"Darling, I hate seeing you like this. It's not easy, I know. You need to eat and be more active then this. This will only make you feel worse, both physically and emotionally," she said softly. I didn't reply. She waited though. After a few minutes, she gave up, and stood up.

"If you don't go downstairs, I will be calling your Uncle," she said and then left.

I groaned in frustration. I don't need nor want counseling. My best friend went to therapy just because she was heartbroken that her boyfriend had dumped her for another girl. She told me how it sucked to be in there with a bunch of other sullen people. She told me it only made her feel abominable. At least for her it was appalling.

I forced myself up, struggling to get off of my bed. I went over to my unpacked suitcase which all my clothes were bunched up in a very messy way. I'm gonna have to put my stuff in the closet. I haven't even lift a finger to do that.

I took out a pair of denim shorts and threw it on. I found a bright, pink, loose shirt and also placed it on. I put my brown hair into a ponytail.

I took a deep breath, before I descended the first flight of stairs to the second level. I walked down the hallway and went down the stairs to the first floor. I absconded to the right that lead me to the kitchen.

I hurried and settled across my Grandpa, my eyes glued to my hands. Grandma quietly sat a plate in front of me. It had pancakes, eggs, and homemade hash browns. This is my favorite, but somehow, I wasn't so anxious on eating it. I poked my food with my fork, taking small bites.

"Orange juice?," Grandma spoked up. I glanced at her.

"Yes please," I replied. She poured a cup of Tropicana orange juice and then handed it to me. With a shaky hand I took it, gulping half of it down. I bit a piece of my pancakes.

It was tasteless.

At least for me it was, while my Grandpa seem to be enjoying it pretty well.

The doorbell rung, startling me.

"I'll get it," Grandma sigh and calmly made her way out of the kitchen.

"How you doing?," Grandpa asked. Sympathy in his eyes.

"Okay," I lied.

I heard Grandma laugh approaching the kitchen. She walked in, following by a young man. I met his gray-blue eyes. He shot me a cocky smiled. I blushed and gazed down at my uneaten food.

"Howdy Paul," the southern accent lurking out of his mouth. Grandpa nodded, sipping his coffee cautiously.

"How can I help you son?," Grandpa asked him. Meanwhile, Grandma picked up her empty plate and took it over to the sink.

"I brought you, your um," he paused, pulling out a yellow envelope and placed it on the table. "The rest of what I owe you. Count if ya need, but it's every cent I owe you."

Grandpa nodded. "Sit down, John. I'm sure you're hungry."

"Oh no, but thanks. I just ate," he quickly said.