Low

Chapter 19--The Truth Isn't Always What You Want

I gulp down some waffle, suddenly the syrup tastes like ash and my appetite has gone down the drain. Today is Thanksgiving. I'm supposed to go see my family. The dread and anxiety begins to build up in my stomach. "Sur," I say to him to catch his attention. I lower my waffle down the side and he quickly walks towards me to take it away.

I'm not hungry anymore, I think to myself as I stare down into my coffee. Black...as dark as my soul.

I don't want to go. I shouldn't go. I can't go. The last time they saw me I had short hair. No lip ring. My skin wasn't nearly as pale. I smiled less that's for sure, but who's to say I'm going to smile tonight. I guess I'm more muscular than when I was a freshman. Honestly, I can't remember what I was like the last time I saw them. For all I know, I've only changed physically.

I need to distract myself. I take Sur for his usual morning walk. I don't care that I'm walking around campus in my pajama pants, t-shirt, and jacket. Most students have left for the week to go spend time with their families. The ones that are left on campus are still sleeping. As I walk around with Sur, I notice how empty and vacant everything is when no one is around. It's pretty great honestly.

We head back home as soon as I start feeling too cold. I walk around the kitchen and begin to pull out several ingredients I bought over the week. Mom used to love apple pie. I wonder if she still does. I've never been the best at baking and cooking, but hopefully I can manage through one apple pie recipe.

I set out all the ingredients and begin to work. At least making something prevents me from thinking too much about my family. I play music over my phone and nod my head to the beat of different songs. Every so often, I'll eat one of the apple slices I've made or toss it over to Sur. He stays at my side the whole time. Laying down on the ground as he watches me maneuver my way around making the pie.

When I finally have the pie in the oven—which honestly took longer than I thought it would—I decide to take a shower. I stay under the showerhead and running hot water for a long time. I can't help but think back to the last time I saw my parents.

I wonder if my dad still has those old and cruddy reading glasses. Or if my mom has decided to dye her hair. I know from the magazines that neither of them has really gained or lost weight. They look a little bit older in the pictures, but I guess that's to be expected.

I wonder if the house is any different. Mom always liked to change up the furniture. She would also switch out the curtains depending on the season. Maybe they've redecorated my room into another office. Or a gym. The pictures of us all together might not be hung around anymore. They might not even have pictures of me. For all I know they could have erased me the way I've erased them.

I lean my head against the cold tiles and close my eyes, What's going to happen when they see me?

What if they only wish they had a different son?

What if I'm the last thing they want?

My negativity strikes before I even have a chance, You've always been the last thing they've wanted Logan.

I take a deep breath to control the constricting feeling in my chest. I turn the water off and grab my towel wrapping it around my waist. I walk towards my closet shuddering against the cold air of the apartment.

I pull out the shirt Veronica bought me and neatly place it on my bed. I search for a dark pair of jeans and then the shoes Vero was talking about. Once I have it placed against my bed I stare at it.

It's a nice outfit. A black button-down shirt, dark jeans, and a nice pair of shoes I would never think of wearing any of it. I'd much rather show up in a Stark sweatshirt with my comfortable worn out Converse but I know this means a lot of my sister. Veronica has been trying to get me to talk to our parents for so long now. I think if she knew all it would take was a wedding and guilt trip, she would have asked Hudson to propose years ago.