Mixed bag
The year chugged by, the phone call from the detective still hung on me. The callousness I had grown accustomed to was waning; it was always that way when it came to her. Her—my best friend—she didn't know what happened. She was happily in a world of lies and I would keep her there. How could I be friends with someone who didn't know me?
How could I know if she really loved me and it wasn't some sort of mystical influence? Did anyone in that world ever care for me on their own?
Doubtful.
Another Ambien and a shot of the good stuff and the thoughts disappeared quickly. It really did surprise me that anyone my age didn't need a sleeping pill or two to fall asleep—this world had forsaken us quite a bit. Now, the world is falling apart around us, and we are still going. Everything changes, and we have to keep going forward like it's not fucked; like our entire adulthoods haven't been fucked up too.
