September 21, 2010

Tuesday

11:11 PM

I suppose this is it.

After work yesterday, I went to this little bar a few minutes away. I drank until they wouldn't refill my cup, ate a basket of wings, and then went to the next bar. I did the same thing, but after a couple of shots, they wouldn't serve me anymore. Before I left, someone grabbed my hand, and when I turned to them, it was a short man with sandy red hair and olive skin.

He was speaking to me. I couldn't understand a word because of the music, chatting, and VHS-taped football games blaring on the TVs, but I could tell he was interested in me.

We walked to his booth and talked for hours. Occasionally, he would crack a smile and try to mask it behind his mug of beer. I assume he found me funny because I'm sure I was slurring whatever I wanted to say, and one thing I remember is passionately rambling about my shitty weekend.

He and I decided to head back to my place. I'm sure if I wasn't five drinks in, I'd have had better sense than to invite a strange man to my apartment, but here we are—well, here I am.

It started out nice. We talked about our families. I told him about my parents, my older brother in the military, and my younger sister working in the Peace Corps. He told me about his parents in Verona, Italy, and how he and his cousins came to America for college.

He offered to cook me his favorite dish, but I was too inebriated to remember that I literally didn't have any groceries. Even when he turned to me with an awkward look, like he pitied me, I still didn't remember.

We talked about our goals. He wanted to be a lawyer and I told him I wasn't even sure what interested me, which was true. Growing up, I was so busy watching Kristin and wanting to be her that even during career day, I didn't give myself a chance to find out what I liked.

One thing's for certain: I hate being a janitor.

Anyway, back to him. His name was Lorenzo, and he was twenty-five. Why do I say was? Because that thing that's after me took his haunting a step further and killed him.

I can't prove it, but I know it.

He promised he'd call me when he got home, but he never did.

No, he didn't stand me up. How do I know? Because his cousin, Elisa, answered, and after explaining who I was to him, she finally told me he was in the hospital. He'd had a heart attack not long after arriving home. He was there for no more than three hours before they carted him to the morgue.

I never got to say goodbye, just like with Kristin. 

I only knew him for a few hours but within that time, I'd grown so close to him you'd think we were childhood friends reunited. Maybe it was because I hadn't made a friend since moving into this apartment.

All I know is that I can't do this anymore.

I remember when these hauntings first started. I called the police every night until they ticketed me for prank-calling or something like that. I spent the money I had saved for emergencies, buying hotel and motel rooms, until I was forced to come back home. I tried contacting the landlady and she all but laughed in my face. I called my mom, and she went on and on about me making up excuses for being irresponsible and how I wasted my money and wanted to be catered to instead of making something of myself. The icing on top was her bragging about Lauren getting married and joining the Peace Corps all at nineteen.

I switched from Zoloft to Lexapro, then back to Zoloft with a higher dosage. I tried everything I knew to do, but nothing was enough.

I just hope that my mom doesn't feel like this is her fault.

⌦ .｡.:*♡

A.N. Is my writing style too flowery? Rereading this story, sometimes I wonder if I'm overdoing it or do I paint a vivid picture?

Also, should I add a trigger warning for the next chapter? Self-harm will be vaguely mentioned, but I know for some it can be triggering. Let me know, too, if I'm not handling certain topics sensitively.