(MAKE SURE TO READ THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER TITLED "MENTHOL" BEFORE THIS ONE. THANKS!)
One more week of starving.
One more week without Rhett.
One more week of rude costumers.
One more week of regret.
I had lost 13 pounds at this point. I was literal flesh and bone.
My eyes had sunken in and my body had started to deteriorate. My nails were cracked and I had lost clumps and clumps of hair. My skin was dry and my insides ached.
I felt like I was dying most of the time.
It was hard to breath at night. So hard that I sometimes had to walk outside to get air.
But then I would shake so hard my knees would want to give out. My iron had gotten so low. I was always so cold. This just made it worse.
Sometimes I would find myself thinking about how it would go down.
Who would find me when I died and who would be at my funeral. How I would go, really.
I wanted to know if I would off myself before the world took the chance.
It had gotten to that point.
I was thinking about death so much more these days. My death, and how it would change things.
I thought about Rhett and how we were once best friends and lovers.
I thought about Stevie and all the laughs we have shared.
I thought about the fans who I would hug when I got recognized on the street or in shops.
I thought about my mom and I cried.
I missed her so much but I wouldn't dare go to her in this state I am in. She didn't deserve that.
But then I thought about myself and I wanted it. I didn't want to live anymore.
Not like this at least. But I couldn't help myself. I was so broken, I would never be fixed.
It was impossible.
It all seemed impossible.