I sat on the sofa in the basement, with a sappy romance movie playing on Netflix in the background. I was studying the pill bottle that was given to me by my doctor; the damn pill bottle that has caused me so much drama over the last few days.

No matter how many times I read the label on my prescription bottle the words still read the same: Evelyn Raven, Take two tablets a day, once a day. The pills, colored a snow white color from what I could tell through the orange haze of the bottle, were for depression. They were the few that had come from the pharmacy, and were the few of an abundance of other medications. Whether it was for pain, mental or physical, I had it all. This medication, however, was insisted to be taken. To be taken immediately if I recall correctly. Why was I being so stubborn about taking them? Because I was in denial. I didn't want to admit that I felt like nasty donkey poop ninety-eight percent of the time. Admitting is the first step to healing, I was once told, but what If you don't want to admit your problem?

Don't get me wrong, feeling like nasty donkey poop is one of the worst feelings in the world, I hated the feeling almost as much as I hated Roan. I remember once my mother telling me –before she went crazy- that your mind is the biggest enemy you will ever have. So maybe, just maybe, that's why I refuse to talk about it. I keep thinking of all the possible things that could happen if I told someone. Maybe they would laugh, maybe they would just expect it. What if they put me somewhere? What if they think I'm crazy?

You see, these thoughts that float through my brain are the reason why I'm trying to tough this out. I don't want them to think I'm crazy. They might send me away, or worse. I don't want to say, "Yeah I think I might be depressed," and then be put on suicide watch. I would never try and kill myself, think. Regardless of everything, I just try to get though the day in one functioning piece. I try to ignore the feeling every day, but lately it's been getting harder. Things keep happening that make me slip farther and farther into the black void. The fight with Roan didn't leave me in the happiest state. Plus he said something about him staying here because of me? I don't know, it all seems like too much to handle. My parents being delusional and weird make me feel even worse. Then, to put the icing on the sweet ass cake, my parents are talking about how Aunt Meredith is getting worse. My Aunt Meredith is very sick; she has terminal lung cancer. She has been getting progressively over the course of a few weeks. She doesn't have the money to pay for a home health care aid to come take care of her at home, and she absolutely refuses to spend her last days in the hospital. I understand why she says that; hospitals reek of anti-bacterial but yet somehow it still has the hint of death looming in the air. Saying that Aunt Meredith's health was making me worried is an understatement.

I was worried sick about her. Every time I think about her I feel a little queasy on the inside. I know my parents feel the way too because I often hear their late night conversations at the kitchen table, talking about paying some of Aunt Meredith's bills and how to give her the home assistance she needs.

"There are just so many," My mother would often say, gesturing to all of the open envelopes and neatly folded papers that were strewn across the table.

"I know. What else is there to do though?" My father questioned in response.

"I'm not sure. We need to do something though," Was all my mother would say in response.

That was another thing too; my parents. They were being so ridiculous, saying that I need to move on from what happened. They make me feel like crap most of the time. I understand that they are under enormous amounts of stress –trust me, I am too- but they didn't need to say that I was just being obsessive over the situation. That's just wrong on so many different levels. What happened to the whole 'family- everyone sticks together in a time of need' concept? I guess it grew wings and flew out the goddamn window.

I was startled when my door opened. I quickly shoved the pill bottle under a pillow that resided on the couch. I tried to look normal, casual, as if I were actually watching this sappy love story. God only knows how much of a lie that is.

"Evelyn, we need to talk," My mother said. Ah, those infamous words that I seem to be hearing a lot these days. I wonder what the hag has to say to me now.

"What?" I asked, clearly annoyed with her. I know that I should be a golden child towards her, but I just couldn't. Not after everything that's been said.

"It's about your father and me," She said, sitting down on the sofa. She brushed off a stray piece of lint, her eyes transfixed on it. I noticed that her hands slightly trembled, and that her face was puffy. She must have been crying before she came in here. It wasn't a surprise though; she cries about everything nowadays.

"What about you guys?" I asked. I pulled the blanket over my legs more, wondering what they were going to make me do now.

"You know how Aunt Meredith has been sick, right?" She asked, new tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Your father and I have decided that we are going to go and take care of Aunt Meredith for a while," She said.

"Okay. So when do we pack?" I asked. I was happy to go see Aunt Meredith. I haven't seen her in a few years because of her illness.

"Honey, you can't go."

"What?" I asked, exasperated. What in the world is going on?

"You have to stay here. School is next week for you. School will help regulate your routines so you can get back to your old life." She sounded as if she were reciting lines from the cheesy book the doctor gave her. I was struck with a horrible feeling of being abandoned mixed with the feeling of anger. How could they just leave me here? What if I was taken again? Who is going to be here with me?

"But who's going to get groceries? Who is going to look after me? I don't understand how you and dad think that it's okay to just leave me here, alone!" I yelled. "How could you, as a mother, do this to me? That psycho could come back for me! He could kill me!"

"He won't under Roan's protection," She said.

"That's funny because Roan isn't going to be here!" I sneered. How could she be so stupid? Roan didn't give a rip about me. He would never, take the job of being my babysitter. That's just not something a cop -especially when you were arrogant, cocky, and had an ego the size of an overblown blimp- did.

"We talked to him and asked him if he would stay here with you while we were gone. He happily agreed, much to our surprise," She said. "I also heard about your little incident at his office the other day."

"We are not talking about that right now," I said. "What we are talking about is the fact that you are letting me be under the control of a cocky asshole for a week!"

"It's not for a week. It's for a few months."

"Could this get any worse? I thought you were taking me too!" I yelled. This had to be one of the worst days of my entire existence. Living with Roan? Someone shoot me now!

"He will take care of you Evelyn," My mother said. "It's not up for debate."

"It has to be mom! You can't make me stay with him! Please don't!" I begged. Not to mention the last time we talked we fought. Imagine what a few days would be like.

"I'm sorry Evelyn. It's the only way. You need to stay here."

"You're just going to abandon me?" I hopelessly asked her.

"Don't think of it like that. Think of it as a little time away from each other."

"Is there any way that I could change your mind?" I asked.

"No," she whispered while standing up from the couch. "I'm going to go tell your father that you have been informed." And with that she left, and I was left on the couch with a big bottle of pills and nasty thoughts that were buzzing through my head. All of which were telling me to end it all now.

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Not edited.

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Updated on 17, 2015
1547 words