I just needed a break. At least, that was what I repeated to myself every day. I wasn’t gone forever, and that thought alone made me spiral, contemplating how many times Melody had the same one.
Is it my fault she’s dead?
The guilt I carried felt like rocks being poured down my lungs, and now I had to live with that too.
For the rest of the week, I was on autopilot.
Confused.
Embarrassed.
Worried.
There wasn’t an emotion I wasn’t plagued by. Every day, I woke up at four in the morning, feeling her in every sense of the word. Completely unaware of which side was up or down, left or right. I was disoriented among my own thoughts, seeking comfort in my empty embrace. I allowed darkness to creep over me, smothering any light left inside me.
“Hey!” Marco greeted, pulling my focus over to him.
We were in his office at his club.
“You alright in there?”
I nodded.
“You don’t look alright. You look like shit.”
I shrugged. “I’m still making you money.”
“It’s not about the money.”
“What?” I scoffed. “We’re friends now?”
He leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. “I’d like to think so.”
“I don’t need a therapist.”
“No, but you do need a friend.”
“Don’t tell me what I need, Marco.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
I arched an eyebrow. “And what message is that?”
All in one breath, he ordered, “You need to go home.”
“You’re firing me now?”
“You’re no good to me when you look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”
“I’m fine.”
“Until what, huh? Until you’re so tired that you make a careless mistake, and I got the cops on my ass?”
“Marco—”
“You have a family waiting for you. You got a brother, agirl, you have someone to go home to. Why are you putting yourself through this? Why are you punishing yourself?”
“You don’t know shit about shit.”
