Bad feelings are one part of what sucks about this world. Good feelings are the other. Because the good stuff is what can get taken from you, the rug that gets pulled out from under you. A warming feeling that, once it's gone, leaves you out in the...
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M E G A N
Throughout the past seven days, I've tried several things to curb my endless thoughts about the boy.
While he's out in the unknown, I'm left with inevitable radio-silence. The most painful part is returning to the home that I'm supposed to being sharing with him. The house instead glooms with deafening silence as it's taken me a few days to realize that the friend I've found my home in is far, far away from the small, two-story structure.
I've been spending nearly all of my free time with Jessie, or her two sons.
Sam and I finally got those cookies I'd promised to ask for and Ron and I have gotten along surprisingly well. Considering I work under Pete, I've taken a liking to every member of the Anderson family, and they've even come as close as to include me as one of their own.
It was difficult to admit to myself that it was easier to mingle without Carl being within these walls. Knowing that he is out finding his purpose—if he isn't dying—makes me feel less guilty to selfishly enjoy this place. In a way, we're both fulfilling ourselves. Although, I'd probably be avoiding him after what happened at the dock, it is definitely not ideal for the boy to be outside the walls for this long.
It's just how it's got to be.
My thoughts shut off—just like the light in the infirmary as someone flips the switch.
The place I spend time to avoid my empty house, is now only illuminated by the morning light coming in through the windows. I've been staring down at Pete's annotated medical textbook for the past few hours, trying to get familiar with the material he so kindly outlined for me.
"Time for your study break." Ron says, his voice making the statement, not giving me room to answer it as if it were a question.
I groan, slumped over the desk with an open, bright yellow highlighter in my hands. The plastic cap in between my teeth. My eyes take one last look at the complex paragraphs of words that I'd missed out on learning when the world went downhill.
"C'mon Meg." Ron starts. "You spend way too much time in here. And on top of that—working with my dad." The boy says. He's never quite understood why I enjoy being around his parents. I never really figured it out either.
"I thought I told you not to call me that." I remark, taking the cap out from between my teeth. The last time he called me that nickname, I objected, saying it was an old lady name and that I didn't like it.
