That’sthe part I hate the most. How debilitating depression is. With my meds, I can finally get out of bed to do things I need to do, but I still can’t do the things Iwantto do. It’s frustrating as fuck.
My fingers trace the leather spine as resentment twists in my gut. Why can’t my brain work like everyone else’s? This story should’ve been done three years ago, but instead it’s just sitting here, like an old wound that won’t heal.
Maybe I should give up. Lock it away and start over. But that thought drags me down even more. I want to see Charlie’s story through. Ineedto.
So why can’t I?
As I slip the notebook away, my fingers graze Pixie’s leaves from where she sits on her tiny table. The rabbit’s foot fern has come a long way from when I’d rescued her on a clearance shelf at Lowe’s. She must be happy here. Good. Makes me glad I went with this style of motorhome. The natural light makes it a perfect little greenhouse.
Maybe a little too perfect.
Out of over sixty—seventy?— plants, I’ve only lost two. They clutter my home. Pots and hanging planters take up every inch of space, even obscuring the TV. But deep down, I don’t mind. The dumb thingsarehelping somehow, even if I don’t feel better like my therapist promised. They at least make me care enough totry.That has to count for something, right?
When it’s time to head to work, I grab two of my largest pots from outside and stuff them in the back of my Nissan Sentra.They’ll look great on the back patio at work, and they’ll be two less things to get me in trouble here.
My gaze lands on the little mound of white flowers in the small plastic pot. It makes me smile. Miles had gone out of his way to make sure Clematis was okay, and he’d called her Princess. Like he adored her already. That is definitely an anchor point.
If only I could find someone who treatedmethat way. Most guys run away the moment they witness my “moods.”
Would Miles? Not that it matters, I guess. He’s who-knows-how-many miles away, so it’s not like we’ll even see each other.
Which is just my luck. Finally connect with someone and I can’t even be with them.
The darkness hums again.
4
MILES
The room is quiet when I reach the nurse’s station on the third floor. Almosttooquiet. Lights flicker under the cabinets near the printer, making it feel like I’m in a creepy dystopian movie or something. Even the hallways are darker than usual, making it difficult to see whois walking by.
That’s the downfall of working second shift, though. The lights are always dim near the patient rooms at night, so not to disturb anyone’s sleep. I mean, I get it, but it still messes with my head.
Today has been especially annoying. Not annoying because it’s busy. Annoying because the hours aredragging.Every hour has felt like three, and all I want to do is take a hot shower, eat the last of my salted caramel ice cream, and curl up in bed. And maybe make my Sims woo-hoo again. Because, come on. At least one of us has to get some action.
Yawning, I pull a seat out by Ana and turn to face her. David is on the other side. They’re too busy typing up notes to pay any attention to me, so I fling a rubber band at Ana. She gives me the side eye. A pink fabric bandana covers her short blond hair, adding a pop of color to our otherwise boring blue scrubs.
“Are you over this day as much as I am?” I ask.
She shoots the rubber band back.
I catch it mid-air. “It’s gone on for an eternity.”
She chuckles. “And then some.”
“This whole week feels long,” David agrees.
“Right! Hey, at least you’re off soon. I still have two hours.”
“Three, actually,” David says.
I blink at him. “What?”
“Three hours. It’s only nine o’clock.”
I whirl around to look at the clock. “Dammit. Why do you have to ruin my hopes and dreams like that?”
He chuckles. “Sorry.”
