GUILT IS A CONSUMER

'Mourning is the price we pay for having to love others'

We went to another restaurant tonight. It's my second meal in months. All because Aiden came back.

I got to eat full meals, I got to sleep worry free, I got to be hugged for the first time in months. All because Aiden found me.

And knowing that— I think back to when I thought I lost him— I can't believe how displaced I was. All because someone left.

Is that common? I know it gets bad. But that bad?

I didn't even feel human. Let alone alive. It felt like my only purpose was to grieve, to grieve Aiden. It felt like nothing else mattered but the empty space he left.

I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that. Even though I know it's completely normal. Even though I know it's forgivable. There's something nagging me, as if I should've been fine with it

Maybe it's the realization I never actually lost him, maybe it's because that I'm better I know that I could've handled it better. Or maybe it's the raw guilt of being guilty. The guilt of carrying a grief, of acting like the victim even though I was only a witness.

I don't think I'll ever know.

I mean— I was so distraught that I can't even remember most of it now. I just know what happened.

But that's behind me. Because here I am. In the weirdly decorated bus seats, my head on Aiden's shoulder. As he layers his head on top of mine.

The bus is in a constant state of shaking and swaying, so this position is uncomfortable. But pulling away feels wrong, like I'm supposed to be in this position. Especially with Aiden.

Then the thoughts of last night come back with that thought. Why Aiden? Why am I so drawn to him? I still get the warm stomach feeling when I look at him, or even just being near him. It's not a flu or something like that, because it's for Aiden only.

It feels strange and foreign— yet nice

I'll make sure not to eat too much this time. This time, I'll eat lighter. But— some part of me wants to get sick again. Why?

I mean— I know why— I just don't want to admit it, I want to do it again for Aiden's attention.

The waitress walks to our table, she seems more modern than the waitresses me and Ben met. Our waitress seemed to be stuck in the 80's, big, teased, blonde hair, bold and patchy makeup, her clack-y shoes and her thick southern accent. I wonder how she's doing..

This waitress seemed younger— but, also worn down— she had pin straight hair that was unfinished in the back, side bangs, and a red and white uniform with her name on the tag. She had those same sorry eyes.

Eyes that sink in, they feel dull and unfamiliar. I ache for her, she's a complete stranger. But she seems so meek.

I hate empathy, it makes me feel stuck up. But— I wish I could hug this "complete stranger"—

But then I pause to think. I have those sorry eyes.

I don't want to hug her. I want someone to see me and wish to hug me.

She takes our order, her voice is scratchy and hoarse. She's a smoker. Aiden orders for Ben, otherwise, we all order.

She gave us water, slid it across to each of us before walking off.

I rap my hand around the water, the coldness making the glass moist. The ice clinks with every movement.

I feel.. weirdly empty? We found Aiden, why would I be like this again? It might be the realization that I want a hug, or maybe I'm still sick. But— I really do think— maybe it's safer to empty and sturdy, then full and flimsy. This way, I won't be hurt. This way, I could be more grateful for the small things. This way, I won't be hurt is someone left again.

I know it's a terrible way to think. But it feels so necessary..

Like a safe space. I know it's more dangerous, I know it's worse for everyone else, and I know I'll regret it the second I get better. But it feels safe, even if it's not.

The waitress comes back, her eyes are more puffy. She's been crying. I can tell Taylor noticed too because she stiffened up and because overly nice— or nicer— I wish I could do the same, to be subtly comforting. But all I can really do is feel sorry.

The second we leave the restaurant I feel a wave of guilt. I didn't help.

I left someone in pain to deal with their own misfortunes.

And in a way, it felt like the right choice. Because I've been the tear stained, messy haired, sorry eyed girl. And I know comforting doesn't help.

Because I know what you're saying, I've already said that to myself. But it doesn't help. I've heard the words "you're so strong", "It's okay to be sad", and "It's okay to break down" a million times over.

And they just don't understand. I know how to leave the darkness, I understand that having the darkness is okay, I just don't care. The darkness is safe. Well— it isn't— but it feels safer.

I'd rather be a broken of a person than be able to break.

____________Word Count: 921

(Short chapter, Srry)