Stupid Hunger

A/n: This author's note is short, and is to say 'hi-I'm back LAWLS!', and I have tons of new ideas I might be posting soon. (Soon is a very relative word, as you can tell.) Another Natalie-centric drabble…I'm going to ignore the rolling of your eyes lol. Takes place after 'Song of Forgetting'. It probably could fit a week or so before or after Hey #1; it's up to you to decide. [This fic assumes that when Natalie means "I'm, like, 70 percent less messed up now." in Wish I Were Here, she hasn't fully stayed clean. It also echoes her defensive stance in Hey #1]

Oh! A tiny dedication to the one guy who's probably seen the many sides of me (i.e. angry, angrier, angriest, SCREW THIS) yet somehow hasn't given up hope on me. (Hmmm…that sounds oddly and scarily coincidental…) He knows who he is, and I wish I could insert some AP Euro reference in here, but I'm taking APUSH. (By the way, that class should be eaten by a giant panda. Can I get an amen, anyone?!) So yeah…thanks.

And to another fanfiction author, who understands that sometimes, pants get in the way of writing her birthday gift and fictional characters talk back. ;)

Disclaimer: I'm sending you to Dr. Madden if you think that I own Next to Normal. Just sayin'. Also- sorry Natalie for putting you through fanfiction hell once again; I'm not like this in real life (meaning being super mean and super hopeless).

Note to self: take too many pills at once, and you feel just fan-fucking-tastic the next morning. The throbbing in my head is just one of the many things I can look forward to in the morning; getting my quiz grade back in Calculus is another. Why can't teachers understand that sometimes our lives are too complicated to make time for studying? So, I probably bombed that. Who cares?

Dad still has no clue how I'm doing, and I'm intent on keeping it that way. He only recognizes me when I've done something well and invisible when I have not done anything of utmost importance. With Mom, he can't deal with me when I'm anything less than perfect or normal; it's just too hard. After all, I'm the one he's supposed to be counting on. When Mom's infamous Costco incident happened, I was the one who handled the phone calls from "concerned" neighbors and family. When Mom decided that making sandwiches on the floor was a good idea, I suddenly became in charge of lunch duty. When Mom came home from treatment, her entire past lost to her, I was supposed to be the catalyst to get her to remember.

Well, Dad, it looks like I've failed the both of us.

I saw Henry again as I left Physics yesterday. He had waited for me to slip out at the last possible moment (as per my usual nowadays), and asked me what was wrong. Not if something was wrong, but what was wrong. Jesus, how can he tell? I came close to telling him, but I caught myself. Why the hell should I put him through what I'm going through; what did he ever do to deserve it?

As I turned around to go to Computer Graphics, he grabbed my hand and asked me to wait. Truth be told, I would have waited even if his calloused fingertips didn't gently brush against my hand and stop me. I stopped and turned back to face him, and he asked if I was sure that I didn't want to talk about it. His touch was so warm and inviting, and more than anything I wanted to drop my backpack and cry and tell him how shitty of a person I am, all of the shitty things I've done, and how I really want this all to stop and it isn't fair and I'm sorry, sorry, sorry. I wanted to just wrap my arms around probably the only stable person in my life, bury my face in the space between his shoulder and jaw line and feel safe in whatever embrace he returned. I would forget about all of the shit in my life and maybe I'll stop feeling worthless enough to slip through the cracks in everybody's life.

But I didn't. I didn't even lie and say I was fine; my arm wrapped my books tighter to my chest, my eyelids tried to dam whatever tears were starting to prick my eyes, and I walked away, neither speaking nor letting go of his hand until the last second. It's not fair to him for me being like this, and it's not fair to me for being like this. It's not fair to my dad for having to deal with my mom, and it's not fair to my mom that she's even like this in the first place.

Everyone else has their own issues to worry about, so I just can't tell them I hate what's happening or even bring myself to tell them I hate what's going on. I just want to crawl into a corner and wait this out. It should be easier that way…right? Don't drag people down, and you won't feel the guilt knowing they could be happier without you and your overwhelming baggage.

Is this how Mom feels? Too many places at once, too many things at once, too much to handle? It's been proven that her condition has some genetic undertones to it; what a great future to look forward to. I never thought I'd see the day where I'd truly become my mother's daughter.

I really can't hide my stupid hunger anymore.