Fall to Pieces - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,10
at the front door as if neon lights are screaming the word “stop.” I yank at my belt, adjust my pants, and clear my throat—a nervous habit.
I open the door, spotting my next-door neighbor, Didi Jones. She’s one of the two women—the thirty-something-year-old-one who uses her daddy’s money to pay the rent for her duplex every month.
Didi stands before me with her blonde curls cascading halfway down her back, red-painted lips that match her nails, a revealing black blouse leaving too little to the imagination, and silver skintight pants.
She’s a pretty woman with her ultra-white smile and lashes so long they cast shadows on her cheeks. Didi insists she’s worried about me living all alone in my house. She thinks I can’t take care of myself without some assistance—the typical female type I tend to attract. If I thought she was concerned about my well-being that would be one thing, but I know she has more on her mind when she comes over.
“Evenin’, miss Didi. What can I do ya for?”
Didi offers her usual crooked smile and lifts a cellophane-wrapped plate in the air. “I made fresh bread tonight,” she says, handing over the plate. “I thought you might like some too.”
“That’s very kind of you,” I say. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
“I always think of you, silly.” She flaps her hand at me as if I’m a passing fly.
The only thing I can appreciate about this neighborly relationship is that she’s never bold enough to invite herself inside or ask me over to her place. However, I have a strange feeling she might be watching me through my windows on the nights I forget to pull the blinds. Hopefully, it’s my head playing tricks on me when I hear twigs snapping outside the thin walls.
The scent of bread makes me feel like I haven’t eaten anything all day, but my appetite dwindles when I recall she only bakes when she’s had a tough day. “Is everything okay with you?” We are neighbors, so I try to do the decent thing by being attentive, but if I’m not careful, my next words could earn me a heart-to-heart conversation on my couch for the next hour.
“Oh, sure, I’m fine. It’s been a long week, but we all have those, right?”
“Sure do,” I tell her.
“Well, it’s late, and I have to help Daddy out at the office tomorrow morning for a bit, so I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Thank you for the bread, Didi. I appreciate it.”
“I know you don’t cook, so—it’s my pleasure. Goodnight, Chancey.”
Once I close the door, a sigh of relief escapes my throat. My twenty-year-old mind would have made a move on Didi by now, but the thirty-year-old I am is looking for something different.
Different as in, a life many people might not understand.
Chapter Six
August
I should have known a headache would follow the actions from last night. The burning sun sneaking in through my blinds highlights the pain. I open the rickety drawer to my nightstand and pull out a bottle of aspirin. The irony of relieving physical pain from what I’m using to alleviate emotional pain proves this mindless cycle of destruction.
I swallow the two pills, choking them down through the dry coating on my tongue. I throw the bed sheets onto the ground, throw Keegan’s pillow to the other side of the room, and grab the jeans I wore yesterday. I pull them on and find myself standing in front of my mirror.
The black circles beneath my eyes are overshadowing my complexion. I’m not sure I can hide the truth with a simple concealer. I’ll need to invest a little more money into a better brand, with full coverage, to hide this kind of truth. My eyelids look puffy. I suppose ice could help with that, but I’m not sure that all the make-up in the world will cover my coarse lips, pasty skin, and the worry lines extending from the corners of my eyes. I look horrendous.
Pain ages us. The therapist said this too.
I grab a clean shirt from my closet, noting I only have a few clean ones left before laundry becomes necessary. I slip on the flannel button-down and realize the buttons are tugging along my midsection. I need to stop stress eating before having to go shopping for new clothes in the next size up.
I unbutton the top buttons and let the shirt hang open over the black camisole I wore to bed. I slip on my flats and head to