Some Kind of Normal

“Sure. Nice meeting you, princess.”

“It’s Monroe,” I shot back with the voice of a five-year-old. Hello. What was it about this boy that turned me into an immature child with no filters?

Nathan bent over to open up his paint can without saying another word, and I hurried back to the house. Not once did I look back. Not even when I reached the maze and could have snuck a peek without him seeing.

I marched straight into the house and, once inside, drank two glasses of water before the weariness of my life—my very existence—pulled me down. It took way too much energy to be anything other than apathetic.

It was a heavy feeling and one I was used to, so I did what I always did when it hit. I trudged upstairs, flopped onto my bed, and thought longingly of the little blue pills that were no longer mine to enjoy.

I closed my eyes, turned and snuggled into my pillow, and prayed for sleep.