"Um, so, Ymir, darling," Mrs. Reiss speaks up after almost inhaling and choking on her piece of turkey, "what is it that you do these days? Last we've spoken was…well, ages ago…and if I recall you were working as a—hm—barista?"
That was a fancy way to put that I used to work as a Starbucks slave.
"No," I fancied them a fabricated story because Freida proceeded to kick my foot, "I'm now a salesman."
My fork kept shaking in my hand.
"Oh! Good for you, dear," Mrs. Reiss's eyes went wide but they were still dead no matter how she adjusted them.
"Very good. Sales are well?"
"Oh yeah. I can usually pay four months in advance at my apartment."
"Ah, very good, very good!" Rod smiled and winked at me and it made my mouth sour.
I couldn't even finish my third bite of deer meat.
"Ah, do you still live in that, hm…economy apartment?" Mrs. Reiss asked.
Oh, why, Mrs. Reiss!
How very polite of you to refer to it as 'economy' and not 'shit side of town'!
"For now," I shoveled a glob of mashed potatoes in my mouth.
I couldn't help myself.
I kept glancing over at Kr—Historia.
"Oh? We believed you were going to move into that quaint little house near South Hill!"
The very house Krista and I were saving up to—well, that I was saving up to.
I didn't want Krista to have to spend all of her money on it for us—I wanted it to be a thing we did together.
But it didn't matter in the end.
I spent what I saved up on booze, weed, and drugs.
It was what saved me from most of the fallout.
And when that ran out I sold my car because Krista always said to sell it and we'd get a better one.
Never happened.
"So you live in an apartment?" Her voice caught me off guard as I fully gave Historia my attention.
"Yeah."
What would it matter to her?
I couldn't keep my gaze on her.
It hurt—it hollowed my stomach.
"The same one you shared with —?"
"Historia," Freida hushed and the blonde kept staring at me without remorse.
"Isn't it sad? Why don't you move? It's…depressing to even think you do." She stated and every word hit me like a brick from the very foundation of my resolve.
It is sad.
I stayed because I feel like if there was ever an afterlife that Krista was right there in the apartment with me at all times, because she said she'd be with me forever.
And ghosts can only stay in one place.
It was depressing— painful to talk to Krista's ghost in my apartment late at night.
"It isn't bad."
"You shouldn't cling to the past." Historia muttered, angrily impaling her carrots and eating them.
She was a hard and bitter person—Historia Reiss. It seemed like she preferred to be it so much that her plate was full of hard carrots and bitter things. She seemed to take joy in biting things that fought back.
"I'm done." I stood up.
I gave Freida a glare—it was her fault I had to pretend to enjoy the meal.
My mind was nervously bleeding, my stomach kept gnawing at my guts, and my heart was beating fast.
I didn't even have my anxiety pills—fuck me.
"So soon?" Freida asked, concerned—I'm sure.
I nearly scoffed.
"Oh, did I sour your appetite?" Historia asked as something flashed over her eyes and then she distorted back to being angry.
"Leave, then." She shooed me off with a wave of her hand like I was a servant.
I couldn't take it anymore as I walked away to go upstairs into the loft where the beds were—to the bed that Krista shared with me every night up here.
I stopped at the edge of it, staring at the sheets.
How many nights did we make love on this?
So many.
We'd wait till everyone was asleep and I'd start by running my hands up and down the back of her thighs—her small hands would ghost over my forearms and slowly make their way up to my face and pulling me into quiet, loving kisses.
These sheets… they were cleaned over a hundred times but I knew these sheets were soiled with memories of her.
Good memories that were falling apart after this shitty fucking day.
I said her name on my cracking, chapped lips and it brought no comfort.
Just a sting that never left in my heart—a gaping hole that throbbed and echoed throughout my whole body.
It would never be filled.
I sat down, unable to lay down quite yet because of the memories of me and Krista.
I loved her.
I brought my hands to my face and I never realized how sweaty and shaky they were. It made my throat constrict and I couldn't breathe.
There was a solid lump in my throat I couldn't swallow.
It made tears rise into my eyes as my hands went down, gripping the sheets, remembering all of the times I gripped them to not wake anyone up as she loved me.
I couldn't cry now.
I was done with it—she was—I wish…
I fucking wish that it was like back then—where I was only waiting for her to get done showering and everyone decided to snowboard out longer and that she'd soon come back with only a towel and sit in my lap, brushing her rose-scented hair, and telling me of all the fun things we did that day.
I wish she was alive and here.
I—I can't live without her.
"—" it choked out and I was crying all over again.
Over and over, I promised myself I would stop crying but every night I found myself broken over the memories she planted in my head likes fucking parasites.
They never left me alone.
"—," I called out, believing that she was only playing a cruel joke on me and was hiding this whole time.
One night, we were in bed, kissing and touching, and the next I heard she was dead—hit by a semi—and I wasn't given the address to her funeral.
I never and couldn't say goodbye.
Her fucking parents never gave me the cemetery where she was buried.
Fucking hell.
"—, please."
She never came back.
She really was dead.
"—."
.
.
.
I don't know how much time had passed.
I couldn't bring myself to look at my phone.
I couldn't, I thought, but I loved being in misery it seemed.
I opened my phone and my lock screen was Krista eating ramen, grinning with those bright blue eyes and nose crinkled in surprise and glee.
I swiped it open.
Krista was laying in my bed, naked, but the blanket covered that.
She had her mouth open a bit with a hint of drool.
Hair messy.
Every morning, I positioned my phone to her side of my bed and pretend that she was there.
If I focused hard enough, she would be… until I reached out for her.
All delusion and illusion.
Rabbit holes and hat tricks to fuck my mind up even more.
I clicked my phone off and sat up.
I had to piss…
Fuck.
I only had my backpack here with my supply… most of it was stupid shit that wouldn't help me get by.
I did have some Hydros, though.
Taking a few from my selling inventory wouldn't hurt.
I got up, rubbing my aching, red eyes. My cheeks felt tight from all the dried tears.
Normal things, really.
I stumbled my way towards the stairs and nobody was up.
Freida left long time ago to go to her emergency meeting and I was stuck here.
Fucking useless.
I trekked down the stairs and into the hallway to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. I had picked my backpack from the living room along the way.
I put it on the counter and rummaged through it as quietly as possible—finding the color coded bottles handy.
Ah.
There we are—I swiped the red capped pill canister.
Further down the rabbit hole I go.
I twisted and popped it up, grabbing a few and then throwing them into my mouth eagerly.
Soon, I could drift away to sleep and forget some things.
Things will be too hazy to remember after that.
"What're you doing?"
I slowly turned around, pretending to not be startled as I put the pills back into my backpack, zipping it closed.
"Taking my medication?" I told her.
Historia didn't seem convinced as she closed the door behind her.
"Really? Let me see," she held out her hand and I glared at her.
"No. I don't have to show you anything," the words were heavy on my tongue, because she looked just like Krista…
Saying hurtful words to Krista was...something I couldn't do.
It felt like a slap to the face to see a replica of Krista glaring at me—as if judging me to my very fucking core like I was an eyesore.
"Honestly," she huffed and then leaned against the door, trapping us inside the bathroom.
I stared at her and she stared at me.
Nothing happened.
I sighed, grabbing a toothbrush from the cabinet—Krista's.
I applied a thick glob of toothpaste.
"Why are you using my toothbrush?" Historia hissed.
"It ain't yours," I replied, quietly, "it's your sister's."
And that shut her up as I went to harshly brushing my teeth till I bled. I liked it best that way.
I kept my eyes on myself in the mirror to try and ignore her, hoping she'd leave me in peace but I could feel her cold eyes staring at me.
"I never saw someone brush so angrily," she commented but it was without much to go off of.
She cleared her throat.
"Do you miss —?"
I spat out the toothpaste and gargled water.
I glared over at her.
"What do you fucking think?"
She was hitting every nerve.
She flinched and then—tears?—snarled back at me.
"I'm trying to fucking be polite," she snapped and I couldn't believe my fucking ears.
Helping?
Truly?
She was a fucking cunt!
"What fucking bullshit, Historia," I chimed back and I saw some tears fall down her eyes.
"Don't say my fucking name!" She shot back and went towards the bathroom door.
Good!
"Father was right—how could — love you!? If she wasn't dating you she'd be alive and happy!" She slammed the door behind her and I felt my blood boil as I grabbed the toothbrush and shoved it in my bag.
I snatched the nearest thing near me and chucked it at the wall, hearing it slam and shatter open with splats of shampoo everywhere.
"FUCK YOU!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, uncaring.
"I FUCKING LOVE HER! I TOOK CARE OF HER!"
The fuckers had to know.
I was crying all over again as my voice cracked, tearing me apart.
"I-I did my best," I put my hands against the counter, bowing my head, trying to get ahold of my fucking self—don't break down here, don't do it, fucking don't.
"I—I wanted—I did my best—I—I was good to her."
But they all blamed me for her death—if she wasn't there she wouldn't have gotten into that car crash.
Guess who begged for her to spend the night?
Me.
They said it was my fault.
If she was home…she'd be alive today.
If she said no the third time to me pleading, she'd be alive.
It—I should've taken no for an answer.
It—
"I love her, I love her, I love her," I sobbed under my breath because I didn't mean for her to die. I just wanted to be close to the person I loved.
But even with all the excuses in the world, I knew it'd never forgive me from what happened to Krista.
She died because I was selfish and bitter.
If I just—
"—, I'm sorry… I'm sorry," I coughed, inhaling sharply and I had to fall back onto the toilet, wheezing.
Breathe.
Fucking breathe.
Control your fucking self, Ymir.
Breathe.
One.
Two.
Three.
Breathe.
One.
Two.
Three.
Forget.
One.
Two.
Three.
"Oh…" I closed my eyes.
The high was coming.
Everything was getting hazy again.
"Thank God." I whispered, struggling to get up and back into my room. I nabbed my bag as I shouldered against the wall with my head full of clouds and dizziness and—ah, so good.
"Thank…God…" I stumbled back to my bed, too high and gone to be strung up to die with my thoughts and guilt.
Too high to even truly comprehend the bullshit that was called death and heartbreak.
Just… me.
And bliss.
