2. Chapter Two
Chapter two
Carter
My eyes peel open, the pounding in my head a nice reminder that I drank way too much last night.
It’s been a long time since I’ve done this and now I remember why.
I try to recall the night but can only make out foggy flashes of different moments that could be part of dreams I had last night instead of reality.
I don’t even know how I got home. But here I am with a migraine setting in and an overwhelming side of guilt.
Wait—is it Saturday?
I think back on my days and can’t be sure. Maybe it’s Saturday. Could be Friday. Maybe it’s Tuesday.
“Fuck,” I mutter, closing my eyes and pulling the blankets up to my chin. But only for a moment because if it is Saturday, I need to get up and get going.
I grab my phone to check the date and time so I can prepare myself for the day.
Yep. It’s Saturday. That’s what gets me out of bed. Had it been Tuesday, maybe I would have called out. But never on Saturdays.
On Saturday mornings, I volunteer at the Winward Animal Shelter a few blocks away. It’s not mandatory, but it keeps me going. It’s something I enjoy. So I do it. Because all I have left these days is my routine.
I start the coffee pot, take aspirin for my head, and hop in the shower to rinse off the night sweats and stench of alcohol.
With the towel wrapped around my waist, I head into my bedroom and find something to wear, eying the stack of boxes in the corner that’ll probably be there when they find my body rotting in here after I’ve died of old age.
My to-go cup is in the sink, dirty, so I wash it before filling it to the top with coffee.
I fix my hair. Brush my teeth. Throw on my puffy jacket because it’s winter in New York, meaning it’s freezing. It doesn’t deter me though. The cold is something I can feel, something that reminds me I’m still alive. I live for those little moments now. It’s all I’ve got left.
As I’m heading down the stairs of my building, because the elevator is a death trap, something hits me.
"I think people find their endings everywhere, all the time."
My hand tightens around the railing as more memories of last night filter through. I was talking to someone. A cop. I shove my hand into my pocket and feel the familiar shape of a business card. I pull it out.
New Beginnings Trauma Recovery Center
Individual Counseling
Grief Support Groups
Survivor Resources
I told him I wasn’t suicidal, and I don’t know why that was the first thing that popped into my head.
I guess I just wanted him to know that I’m not.
Because I’m not. I’m surviving. I’m not the happiest person in the world, but I definitely don’t want to die.
I’m grateful to be alive. I just don’t understand why I am when he’s not.
I shove the card back into my pocket because maybe I will need to give it to someone one day, and I keep going down the stairs until I reach the main hall.
It’s wide enough for people to pass by on either side, but it smells like piss and mold.
The tenants here are mostly quiet, but I haven’t made friends with anyone.
Not even with the people who live on the same floor as me.
It’s not the greatest apartment, but it’s New York and everything is fucking expensive. This is what I can afford on my own, so this is where I live.
The cold air hits me like a slap to the face and it’s hard to breathe for a moment. Once I get going, my breath puffs out in clouds of white smoke, my hands already feeling numb.
You should wear your mittens.
His voice echoes in my head like it always does throughout the day, but today, it just makes me feel like shit.
I shove one hand into my pocket, hoping the hot coffee cup will be enough to keep the other warm. I duck my head and quicken my pace, weaving around other people who are braving the cold air to get where they need to go.
This isn’t the life I had planned for myself.
I wanted so much more. But here I am, walking to and from the animal shelter I volunteer at every Saturday morning because animals are easy to love and they don’t ask questions.
They don’t tell you that you look like shit or that you should get over your trauma because it’s been too long.
They just love you because they want to be loved in return.
My day job, working at the library, is quiet too. People there don’t ask questions because no one talks much at all. We all know that in the library, you stay quiet. Plus, it’s a small branch and there are usually only two staff on at a time, so we stay busy.
I go to a support group twice a week but just stopped seeing my therapist because it wasn’t working out with us. She didn’t understand that I’m not ready to let go and move on yet.
The life I had planned for myself was much different.
So much different.
But no one cares about your plans. No one but you.
I make it to Winward without frostbite and half my coffee left, only because I wanted the warmth. Once I’m inside and defrosting, I suck down the rest of it, needing the caffeine.
The ache in my head has turned to a low thrum and hopefully I can get through the day without it getting worse.
Learned my lesson. Won’t be going to the bar for another six months. It’s not a usual thing, but when I do end up there, I don’t remember much of the night.
“Morning, Carter,” Hazel calls out from behind the reception desk.
She’s about my age with fair skin, bright eyes, black hair, and big cat-eye glasses. She’s adorable. Cheerleader meets book nerd. Not my type, though. I prefer my partners to be more masculine—way more masculine. Like with a dick and all.
The guy from the bar last night, for instance. I don’t remember much about the night, but I keep getting flashes of his face in my head. He was handsome but I don’t date.
“Morning, Hazel,” I return as I reach the counter and sign in. All volunteers have to.
“Teddy has been waiting for you.”
“I guess I’ll go see her first.”
I go to the staff break room to peel off my coat, hang it on a hook in a small cubby, and put my cup beneath. Then I head into the back rooms where the kennels are. As soon as I’m through the door, all the barking starts.
“Hi guys,” I say as I walk through, going right to the back.
Teddy is a golden retriever mix who has so much anxiety that she’s on medication. For some reason, she’s taken to me well. And if I could afford a dog, or even had the space, I’d take her. No one else wants to. She’s been here for months already. No one has the patience for her.
Every day, dogs and other animals we have here are adopted. No one wants to deal with a dog who needs daily medication and a lot of attention, but in a calm way. Not in a way that they need to go to the park to play fetch. An active person isn’t the person for Teddy.
“Hey, Teddy,” I say as I open her cage and step inside slowly.
She’s curled into a ball in the corner on her cream-colored bed, her tail flopping up and down like a fish out of water. She ducks her head but keeps her eyes on me.
I don’t go to her. I just sit in the corner opposite her and wait for her to come to me.
I have stuff to do. Feeding the animals, cleaning litter boxes, restocking food, and other things, but I just need to give Teddy a little attention first. Not everyone can get close to her the way I do. She’s not violent, she’s just scared. Cautious.
“I had a rough night last night,” I say softly. “Stayed out way too late. Drank too much.” I keep my voice calm and even. Teddy gets to her feet, tail still wagging and body low to the ground. “I have the worst headache this morning, but I sucked it up like I usually do. It’s my own fault.”
She slowly makes her way toward me, but I don’t react yet. Moving will scare her. I need her to come to me completely.
“Hopefully you had a good night. I know it can be loud in here. Some of these dogs have big mouths.” I huff a laugh. “They’re all good, though. Animals are always good.”
Teddy comes closer and nudges my hand with her wet nose.
I wait a beat before lifting it slightly.
She shoves her nose beneath, and I pet her.
Just a run of my hand over her head. Her body relaxes and she drops to the floor to lie down and puts her head on my thigh. I keep talking to her about my week.
“I wish I could stay here forever, girl. It’s so easy here. Nothing hurts.”
My chest gets tight, and I know it’s time to get up before Hazel finds me crying in here like she did a few weeks ago. It happens sometimes. Deep, raw sadness just hits out of nowhere every now and then. More so when I start to feel things. Good things. Happy things.
Serena, my ex-therapist, said it’s because I still haven’t dealt with my grief, but I’m dealing with it the best way I know how. And even if I do deal with it, will I ever not be sad thinking about the person I lost?
Maybe I should find a different therapist instead of giving up entirely. I have strangers in bars handing me cards. That’s how obvious it is that I’m not okay. I mean, I am okay, just… not as well as I could be.
“I have to go, Teddy. I know you don’t like to hear it, but there are other animals here who need taking care of too.”
I run my hand over her head carefully, feeling her soft fur. She’s a beautiful tan color with a few white spots on her chest and back. I really wish I could take her home. If only I had enough money to not work and care for her full time.
I slide over carefully, because getting up freaks her out. She gets up and scurries back to her corner to lay down.
It breaks my fucking heart to see her all alone in there, but I’m not in a place to help her. I can hardly help myself.