work in progress

chapter two

michael;

"Eggs, bacon, milk, butter..." I sighed, reciting my shopping list to myself as the automatic double doors opened before me. I'd always had trouble remembering things... Something my wife used to help me with before she-

Stop it, I chided myself silently.

Sometimes the pain would hit me out of nowhere; racking my body with sobs, making my whole body shake, and the only thing I could ask myself was "Why wasn't I good enough?"

Of course, the answer was clear. I wasn't.

I sighed to myself again as I approached the freezer and got two cartons of eggs, pausing to read the brand name on the top without taking in a single syllable.

Her voice was echoing in my head, carrying waves of anger, sadness, and most of all, pain. Irreversible, debilitating pain. Pain that left me with no energy to get out of bed for days, pain that made it impossible for me to make a cup of coffee, pain that made me want to end it all. And all because I wasn't good enough. I was never good enough for anyone.

Even as a child, my older brother always got all the coolest toys, all the latest gadgets, all the highest praise, while I watched from the shadows, wishing I was good enough.

Even when he moved out of the house, my mother said little to me besides "When are you gonna get out and get a real job, like your brother?" Of course, I had no answer, no defense, and so I just stared at her, wishing I was good enough.

Even when I did move out of the house and get a "real" job, my brother would text me about twice a week, asking why he didn't see me at the family dinner, or lunch, or outing, or get-together.

I was never invited.

I was never good enough.

Even now, after my divorce, I sit on my couch for hours and sob uncontrollably, and all I can ask myself is why I wasn't good enough. Why I'd never be good enough, not even for myself.

My therapist told me to stop letting myself get lost in these debilitating thoughts; I'd worked so hard to pull myself out of the seemingly bottomless pit that was depression, I didn't want to go back, did I?

"No," I whispered in answer, putting the eggs in my basket and turning to walk to the register, and that's when I saw her.

Brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, hazel eyes, lips stretched in a thin line as we locked eyes for three seconds. Three seconds was all it took.

Stop, my brain chided again, don't let yourself. I walked in the other direction before she could raise a hand say hello.

-

"That'll be $21.27, sir," the pretty cashier said as I dug in my back pocket for my wallet. Not having the energy to look for coins, I gave her $25.

"Keep the change," I said with yet another sigh.

- 

Pulling out my phone, I requested for an Uber as the double doors retracted again, revealing a chilly, bloodred sunset and an almost empty parking lot.

Your Uber is 5 minutes away, the app said. 

I put my phone in my pocket, deciding to gaze into the sunset and let my mind wander, against my better judgement and Doctor Nash's advice. After about a second, I heard laughter; deep, hearty laughter that sent chills down my spine and forced me to remember a better time, where I was happy.

Where we were happy.

I turned without thinking, knowing before my head stopped moving that I would see those hazel eyes locked onto my face.

She wasn't alone.

Her slim, pale arms were wrapped around someone's neck, and as my eyes moved onto the person's face I detected a slight hint of recognition, which were most likely mirrored in my own eyes. And suddenly, I was furious.

He raised a hand in greeting; my hands involuntarily curled into fists as the painful recollections of months stole over me.

"How's it going?" His voice rang out into the dusk, sending waves of anger radiating off of me so strong I was surprised they couldn't burn him.

There was a honk behind me. Without a second thought, I opened the door and stepped into my Uber.

As the car pulled out of the parking lot, I could still see the shock on his face.

I smirked.

But the smirk slid off my face once I realized that in my haste to leave, I had forgotten the onions.

What was wrong with me?

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