Dealing With It (Two Short Stories) by Christina Channelle Page B

go pick up his brother. I would have
refused adamantly and tell him to leave his drunkard of a brother
to walk himself home, after a night of partying.
    And stay with me.
    I’d get up and make him my specialty
strawberry and chocolate pancakes, his favorite thing to eat. We’d
go for a short stroll in the park and then catch an afternoon
movie—I’d even let him pick. Afterwards, I’d force him to bring me
to the mall where I would, of course, go on a mini shopping spree.
Then we’d walk back home, arm in arm, and I’d have him make me
dinner. We could have done anything that day.
    I would have never let him get into that
car.
    A tear quickly rolled down the side of my
face though my eyes were still closed. I suddenly turned my
thoughts to God and questioned him on why he would do this to me.
Why he would take such a beautiful soul away from his mate. If
there was anything in the past that I did that made me deserve
this. If there was anything that I could do to fix this so life
could go back to the way it was supposed to be.
    I’d do anything to get him back.
    And I would. I would make him breakfast
every morning. I’d let him win every fight. I would give him the
tightest of hugs every time I left him. I would give him the most
passionate of kisses every time I saw him again. I would do
everything to be the best person I could be—the best girlfriend and
the best of friend. I’d give up everything but my necessities.
    Please.
    I would.
    Please, God.
Just bring him back to me.

Chapter
4
    DEPRESSION
     
    I BARELY FELT the hand resting on my arm. It
was a warm presence against my constantly chilled body.
    “Angie.”
    I didn’t even remember where I was. I was
stuck in a shell within myself, lifeless. Feeling nothing, seeing
nothing.
    “Angie.”
    It was all a big ball of emptiness.
    “Angie!”
    I blinked, then finally looked up. It was
slow moving but I found myself staring into a pair of concerned
eyes so similar to my own.
    Mom.
    But while I stared into eyes that were alive
and vibrant, passionate with life, I knew what she saw when she
looked at my own was the complete opposite—listlessness.
    Dead.
    She finally removed her hand from my arm and
settled back into her seat across from me, a look of sympathy on
her face.
    I didn’t want to see that.
    I looked down into the plate in front of me
instead. She had ordered Hawaiian pizza, my favorite. I stared at
the bits of ham and pineapple on the pizza slice as it lay there,
uneaten.
    It was beginning to get cold.
    “Angie, you need to eat.”
    I could hear the almost exasperated tone in
her voice but I didn’t care. I practically tuned her out as she
continued to rant.
    “You’re skin and bones, wasting away
completely. You can’t do this to yourself, honey. You haven’t seen
any of your friends in so long. And what about Ian? He’s hurting
too and you’ve completely shut him out. It’s been months—so many
months. It’s time to let Jesse go, sweetheart.”
    I didn’t say anything for the longest time,
actually brewing on her last words.
    Let Jesse go.
    I didn’t want to be having this conversation
with her, talking to her about Jesse. I didn’t want to hear her
analogy on why I should be moving on. In fact, I didn’t want to be
eating a meal like everything was okay—I didn’t want to eat at all.
The thought of forcing food down my throat made my stomach queasy
and I fought the urge to gag.
    I actually wanted to go back to sleep; I was
tired. So. Very. Tired. I felt the aches and pain taking over my
body, the constant throbbing at the left side of my head that just
wouldn’t go away. But at least lying in the comfort of my bed would
lessen the pain, if only a little.
    And I didn’t feel like seeing Ian, a
constant reminder of the past, looking at me with that
oh-so-similar face of his. Or my two best friends, Diane and Cara,
who I knew would do everything to try and make me smile again.
    I wanted to crawl into my bed, throw the
covers over