My thighs are aching.

344AM, December 27th? Is it the 27th? I think so. Separation of days when you are living hour to hour... doesn't quite work. You brain ceases to think that far ahead, so you don't really fixate on the tiny details such as whether or not it's Monday or Thursday, much less the actual date.

I can't remember.

I can't remember if it was this morning or yesterday morning that found me crying in my bed.

Maybe both.

I do know that today, for the first time since this started, I was able to take some time to myself.

I went to one of my oldest friend's place and cried into his chest, near hyperventilating sobs, half-seconds apart as I tried to let go and bring myself back together all at once.

He massaged me. Back, shoulders, neck, head, jaw, feet, calves, knees, for a little over two hours. It was the first time I was at any sort of peace.

But my father called, the wave of nausea rolled through me and I clutched a pillow to my chest as his voice fill my ear and I tried not to vomit. He was not happy. I should have been at home, staying with Mom, helping her, keeping her sane.

Eventually the nausea eased. I went to Starbucks and read Black Coffee Blues because Rollins is one of the only writers I can think of that near immediately set my mind at ease. I read and drank coffee in the sun, sitting on a circular fountain, scooting down the rim as the sun moved behind the building.

I went home and I walked, trying to get the blood going, trying to release some endorphins that would help me get myself out of bed in the morning, which was so hard for me today.

I called GV8.

We talked for a long while.

I think I might have to let him go.

Out of my life.

This isn't working. How he is talking to me now... he has good information, good opinions, good ways of operating... but it's as though now that we aren't dating, he views me as lesser and no longer has to hide it.

My father barbequed steaks. I shook and tried to act normal.

I feel like some sort of trauma victim.

I barely managed to get out of the house, fighting guilt and fear, to do the one thing I had been focusing on as an escape, as a night out, an illusion of a normal life: go dancing at my favorite club.

I got there. I can only hope that my father is not mad now. He thinks I should be home, with the family. I think I need to scramble for sanity.

But I quickly determined one very unexpected and undesirable thing: Darkeyes was in attendance.

He knows better than that. The scene we run in has a few separate... eh, I want to say regions, but that's not right. It has very specific boundaries between clubs and the people that go there. Stereotypes and cliques within a stereotype. Further division.

He knows that the club I went to tonight, that club is my stomping ground. He hasn't set foot in it, to my knowledge, since we broke up.

And he was there tonight, of all nights.

But it's rounding on 4AM, and I want to be coherent for this. Maybe I'll actually have a normal day tomorrow.


I doubt it.