Never Been Kissed by Melody Carlson

Author:Melody Carlson [Carlson, Melody]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2011-06-01T21:01:54+00:00

10

______

Dark and depressing thoughts chase me like hungry wolves through the night. I wish I could sleep and escape this torture, but it’s like my mind keeps racing over details—replaying all that was said and done, trying to make sense of it. Like maybe I can solve this thing, but really I’m just going around in circles like a dog chasing its tail, or a hamster on an exercise wheel. Going nowhere fast.

Unable to sleep, I sit on the edge of my bed and feel so weary and beat up that I am utterly hopeless. Maybe it’s the way a soldier might feel after being in battle. Shell shock, I think they call it.

Nothing about this day makes sense. And the more I try to wrap my head around it, the more slippery and confusing it seems. It’s crazy—how can I be in this much trouble for sending a swimsuit photo?

Then I wonder—did Asher use Photoshop to alter my picture? Did he somehow remove my swimsuit and doctor the image to make it look like I’m actually naked? I’m sure it’s possible to do something like that, but why would he want to? Furthermore, why would he forward something that skanky to everyone else? Wouldn’t it make him look as bad as me? Wouldn’t it get him into trouble with the law too? And if he did that, why would he act like he was mad at me? I remember the fury in his eyes. He was seriously outraged.

Nothing I can come up with makes any sense to me. And with no phone, no computer, and no one to talk to—just questions and confusion—it feels like my head is going to burst. I think I’ll never get to sleep.

Finally it’s three a.m. and I’m desperate for sleep. I tiptoe into the bathroom and open the medicine cabinet. I quietly search until I find an amber bottle of Ambien tucked behind a tube of HeadOn. I vaguely remember that the sleeping pills were prescribed for Mom a few years back. She’d been going through a rough spell at her old job. The date is expired, but I don’t feel concerned as I pry off the lid and pour the small blue pills into the palm of my hand. There appear to be about twenty or so. More than enough to ensure a good night’s sleep—or perhaps a permanent escape.

I fill the smudgy bathroom glass with water, sit on the toilet seat lid, and look at the blue pills in my hand. Really, what difference would it make if I were gone by morning? Who would really miss me? I close my eyes and let out a big sigh. Wouldn’t it be easy? Just sleep my troubles away. End of story.

I take a deep breath, bracing myself to gulp down the pills and wash them down with lukewarm tap water. I think I can do this.

Suddenly it occurs to me that I haven’t really prayed about today’s trauma. Not specifically anyway . .

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