Chapter 11
Rory
My eyes roll to the side to look at the time on my phone. It’s only ten in the morning. I close them again, not moving any other part of my body. It’s a bad day today. My body feels like dead weight, and I have no energy. On the coffee table in front of me, there’s an open wrapper with one pop tart left in it. When I feel good, I prep healthy food for days like these. Protein bites, hard-boiled eggs, mini muffins, easy carbs, easy protein. Do I eat any of it? No.
Another thing I’ve failed at, eating healthy when I’m like this. If I didn’t feel like this, I would be a better person, that’s for sure. My head is heavy as I let it turn to the side, my cheek against the headrest of the couch. I can’t remember if I took my meds today. Did I take them? Maybe. I should check. Telling my arms and legs to move, I try to get up to go to my bedroom and check my pill container. My limbs don’t respond, and I’m still sitting here with my head turned.
I need to get up. I need to check my pill bottle, and I need to try to get out of this. A tear leaks out of my eye when the thought hits me that I don’t know if I can. My limbs won’t move, my brain is slow, and there’s a heaviness pressing down on me I can’t lift. Forcing my lungs to take a deep breath of air, I hold it in for a bit, then release it slowly. Repeating the pattern two more times, I’m able to find the ability to get myself to my room at least. Promising myself I can collapse in bed since I’ve been up for a couple hours, my legs finally cooperate.
Once up, I shuffle to my bedroom and check my container on my nightstand. No pill in today’s spot. Must have taken them already. I check tomorrow’s making sure I didn’t just forget to refill the container, but I see it’s good to go. Allowing myself a reprieve, I sit on the bed, slouched and staring at the spot where the wall meets the floor, my hands setting palm down on the bed, on either side of my body. Another tear leaks out, and I close my eyes in frustration.
Fuck all this shit. Why does this have to happen? Why does my brain do this to me? Why doesn’t my body cooperate? I’m angry, but it’s dampened by the heaviness that won’t leave. My phone dings and I manage to look over at the screen and see “Whes!” on the screen. Slowly, my hand reaches for the phone, and I unlock it with face ID.
Whes!: Hey hot stuff, thinking of you today. Can’t wait to see you soon.
I sat there, staring at the message for a few minutes. I don’t know how to respond right now. Do I tell him thanks? I know I want to see him too , but not when this is happening. Not on my bad brain days. Will he be mad if I leave it? Maybe I should respond. He probably wants me to respond and be happy. I should try.
Me: Can’t wait to see you too.
Whes!: Can I call you later to make some plans? I’d love to get to know you one on one. We both would, actually.
Me: Um, sure, sounds good.
Whes!: Awesome, talk to you soon. Have a good day
That’s all I have in me; maybe more will come later. I managed to walk to the living room and back and message Wes. That’s good. Maybe I can get out of this.
Maybe this can be a little bad brain day instead of a full bad one.
With that thought giving me some strength, I put on fresh clothes, comfortable but still appropriate for going out in public. Allowing myself breaks between tasks, I manage to get my hair somewhat respectable, fill up a water bottle, and grab my purse.
Pulling into the parking lot, I feel a little tension leaving my shoulders as I look at the brick building. Time at the bookstore should help, I hope. It’s quiet but public, has a coffee shop, and they don’t mind customers hanging out. Taking another deep breath, I get out of my car and walk into the bookstore. The aroma of paper and coffee hits my nose and I take a deep breath just to inhale the scents.
The weight isn’t gone, but it’s lifted enough that I don’t need to take breaks, so I order a decaf latte and move to peruse the books. Finding some contenders, I pull them out and find a couch to sit on so I can flip through them. I’m not treating this place as a library. I won’t read the whole thing, but I like to skim and see if I like the writer’s style. Sipping my coffee, I read the backs of the books in my stack, so I have an idea of each story that’s waiting to be read.
“Hey, uh, Rory, right?” I hear a voice near me ask.
My head whips up in surprise and there’s a medium height woman standing there with long black hair and deep blue eyes. She looks so damn familiar, but I can’t place her.
“Yeah…” I trail off, hoping she’ll pick up the conversation.
“Oh, sorry, you probably don’t remember me. I’m Morgan. I was at the bar a week or two ago and we chatted a bit. Sorry if I’m being a total crazy person right now. I just saw you and wanted to say hi,” she says, starting to babble a bit by the end.
“Oh, yeah.” My memory finally kicks in. “I remember now, sorry.”
“It’s no problem!” she chirps. “I don’t want to bother you, but it just felt like I should say hi.”
“Do you want to sit?” I ask her, not sure where the question comes from.
Bad brain days usually make me extra uncomfortable around people, and I don’t talk much.
“Sure, thanks. You have quite the stack there.”
I turn my head and look, pushing away the heaviness that’s lingering as best I can. “Oh, yeah, I like to grab the ones with fun titles or covers and read the backs slowly before I buy any.”
“That’s such a cool way to do it. I’ve never thought about that. Usually, I know exactly what I’m going for,” she says. Her voice has smoothed to a more comfortable pace, and I wonder if she was nervous saying hi.
“Thanks,” I tell her, and take a sip of my coffee.
“You okay? I mean, I know you don’t know me well, and I don’t know you well so you can tell me to fuck off if you want. You just seem kind of down, I guess. Since I only met you once I suppose I don’t really know,” she says, looking over at me.
I debate what to tell her. Usually, people don’t actually want to know, but she seems sincere. She made a point to check on me at the bar when he was being an asshole. Maybe she really cares? Why does she care anyway? She doesn’t know me.
“Why do you care?” I ask softly.
She sighs and looks away from me into the rest of the store. “I have a friend who struggles with bad thoughts. She has so much anxiety she deals with and she’s trying to be better, but it made me start noticing when someone might be struggling. She’s wonderful. I’m so grateful I met her, but I wish I had known about her anxiety before putting my foot in my mouth around her.”
“What happened?” I ask before I can stop myself.
She smiles a little. “The first time I met her, she got overwhelmed and walked away from the table we were at, so I followed her to try to talk to her. I didn’t realize it was anxiety, so instead of talking to her about that, I just started in on what I thought the problem was. She chewed me out and left.”
“That seems rude.”
“Knowing what I know now, I see why she did it.” Morgan is still smiling as she tells the story. “I’ve gotten better about approaching people and trying to determine who they are before assuming I can help.”
I nod slowly, turning her words over in my mind. I’m still not really sure what her end game here is, but maybe she is just a nice person who wants to help. She seems like it, but I know that my friends have all thought I was too much and never stayed. Maybe if I just keep that in mind, it won’t be so bad when she leaves. Wes and Kyle probably won’t be far behind, so it’ll be good practice to deal with the feeling.
“I’m not particularly okay, then. It’s… uh, it’s a bad brain day today,” I tell her, eyes glued to my coffee.
“Sorry to hear that. Can I ask what a bad brain day means?”
“Yeah, sorry, I just default to what I normally call things…”
“Hey, it’s not a problem. I just want to understand, you know?” She smiles gently at me.
I nod. “Yeah, I get it. To me, it means that my brain isn’t working the way I want it to. Everything feels heavy, it’s hard to function, I don’t really want to do anything. Most days I have some of that, and I can ignore it, but bad brain days are the days it’s really hard to push through or days where I can’t push through.”
“I’m glad you did today enough to be here. It’s nice to be able to be here with you.”
I look over at her, and she’s looking at me with kind eyes. I expected pity or maybe panic as she tried to figure out how to escape, but I see only kindness. Feeling caught off guard, I’m not really sure what to do with it. My eyes fix back down to my coffee.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable… I can leave if you want,” she offers.
“No!” I say quickly. “You can stay. I’m… I’m not used to having anyone understand. They usually try to run or look at me like I’m pathetic. It’s nice to be heard.”
“I’m happy to hear you.”
I clear my throat. “What kind of books do you like to read?”
We spend the next hour discussing books and getting to know each other more. Morgan enjoys smut, thankfully, so we had a lengthy conversation on what our favorites are: genres, authors, books. Our tastes are similar, but we do swap some recommendations in areas the other hasn’t quite gotten into yet. By the end of our conversation, I have three books to buy and I’m feeling more relaxed about having shared stuff about myself with Morgan. The bad brain day isn’t gone, but I feel some comfort at least in talking with her.
“Are you feeling shitty still?”
If it was another person, I might think she was fishing to see if she fixed my brain, but the way Morgan asks gives me the sense that she’s just checking in. There’s no pressure to say the right thing, just a friend asking a friend. I guess that’s what it feels like. Huh.
“Yeah. Bad brain day is still in full effect.”
“That fuckin’ sucks.”
I huff a laugh. “Yeah, maybe it’ll be better tomorrow.”
“I hope so. You’re good people; you deserve more good days than bad days.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that.”
She fidgets for a minute before taking a deep breath and looking at me. “I know this is forward of me, but can I give you my number? You can always text me if you need something, or if you just want to chat. I mean, we could swap but I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
“I don’t have any friends,” I blurt out, then I’m mortified.
Who says that? She doesn’t need to know that nobody likes me. She’s got friends. Why in the world would she want to be my friend? As mortifying as it is, maybe it’s good that I told her, then she can just walk away. She’s going to anyway, right? This was a nice conversation, but it’s only been an hour.
“Gotta start somewhere,” she says, smiling widely.
“Okay,” I tell her. “Give me your phone?”
She happily hands it over and, defying the voice in my head saying this is a bad idea, I type in my number and text myself.
“There. Now you have mine too.”
She grins. “Awesome! I gotta go, but I’m really glad I ran into you, Rory.”
“Back at you, Morgan.”
I watch her walk away, almost wondering what the hell just happened. Deciding not to worry about it, I buy my books and head back to my apartment. I’ve been in public, so I feel a little better about letting myself rest for the day. My phone dings in my pocket when I walk into my apartment.
Unknown: I meant it. Don’t ever feel like you’re bugging me if you need someone to talk to. Also, I bought the book you recommended and I’m looking forward to reading it!
Smiling, I save Morgan’s number and let her know I will and that I hope she likes the book. My couch is covered in pillows and blankets, so I make myself comfortable and settle in for the night.