The Irony of Choking On a Lifesaver
It was hard to turn on the lights. Not like I couldn't, I was totally capable of reaching up and flicking a switch; I mean that the mere act of lighting up a room was pointless. I like the dark better anyways. It held me the way no one else could, and it provided a feeling of isolation that I wasn't getting. It also helped that I couldn't see the absolute wreckage I've been marinating in for weeks. Ever since Ash died I lost my motivation to lift a finger towards the piles of laundry, the dishes, or even the faucet to my shower.
I had completely given up.
It hardly mattered now. After packing up her things, I lived amongst towers of memories that were only a bitter reminder of my now lonely existence. This apartment was an echo chamber of sorrow. A dark, cold, wordless studio that housed a dying light.
My phone lit up. 5:30. It was already dark out.
Just as I glanced away from my phone, a message appeared from a number I've never seen before.
"You okay?"
Huh. Probably an aunt or a cousin who found my new number through a long winded grapevine. Was anyone that desperate to know how I was doing?
"Hangin' in there." I responded shortly after, figuring they person behind the number was going to clarify who they were in the next few responses.
"She's not really gone, you know."
What? The fucking audacity, be it extended family or stranger, who were they to say where the hell she was. Forever in our hearts my ass. No one cherished our family enough to remember us. No one.
"Fuck you, stop texting me."
"I can show you."
Enough. That was enough.
I don't want to see her, I resigned. I don't want to see anyone. I switched my phone off, grimacing at the thought of some motherfucker feeling like they could rub salt in the wound just for fun, behind an anonymous number no less.
Flopping my head onto my pillow, I tried my best to find sleep. I shut my eyes tightly, drawing in a long, slow breath.
I can show you. What the hell is that supposed to mean? It's not like she would fake her death and go into witness protection or something. And even if she did, why would anyone bother to tell me?
...Fuck it.
My hand blindly found my phone again.
I easily found the text thread again and began to type.
"Enlighten me."
