Chapter 1
It was better when I had a routine. A routine kept my pulse even. Kept me sane. So I made sure every weekday morning was the same. At exactly 8 o'clock, I would go for a run. I glanced at the clock as I laced my sneakers. It was only 7:50, which was ten minutes too early. I finished tying my second sneaker and willed myself to stay still.
I was trying out this new thing. Long, slow, deep breaths. It was supposed to calm me. But my muscles wanted to move and I couldn't make my leg stop bouncing. The small movement radiated energy to all my limbs. Within seconds, I'd abandoned my slow, even breaths. I wanted to jump and run and scream. God, I wanted to scream. My fingers repeatedly tapped against the top of my thigh, one at a time, driving me slowly insane. I cringed when I looked back at the clock and only one minute had passed.
I clenched my hand into a fist so I wouldn't be tempted to grab something and throw it at the clock that wouldn’t speed up to the desired time. I looked back down at my bouncing leg. What would it feel like to scream at the top of my lungs? Would the neighbors hear? I shook the thought away. It didn't matter. I wasn't going to scream and wake the neighbors at 7:52 in the morning. 7:52? Are you kidding me? It was almost like time was standing still.
I stood up and started stretching to give my overactive limbs something to focus on. Sometimes change was okay. An adjustment to my schedule wasn't the worst thing in the world. But not today. Today was Thursday. My schedule couldn't change on a Thursday.
I smiled at the irony of it. Six months ago, my schedule changed on a Thursday. Not by choice. By destiny. It was like the universe knew what I'd needed at that exact moment. I used to run at 7 a.m. every day. Now I ran at 8. I was okay with it being a few minutes early or late most days. But not Thursday. Never Thursday.
My route was timed out perfectly. That way I got to run past the same spot twice within a half hour. Once wasn't enough. It had to be twice. I wasn't sure I'd keep breathing for another week if it wasn't twice.
Some people might think my fixation was unhealthy. But it was the only thing I looked forward to all week. My world revolved around Thursdays at 8 a.m. Because the rest of my world was bleak. If my life was the only thing I thought about, I'd lose my mind.
Although it was possible I'd already lost it.
I walked into the pantry and reached into the far corner of the bottom shelf. My fingers wrapped around the container of pills. It used to feel like I was swallowing guilt when I took one. Now? I plopped one into my mouth and shoved the container back into the corner. Now it was part of my routine. And I felt no guilt. If anything, I felt relief.
I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and drank the pill down. Nope, definitely no guilt. My eyes lazily looked up at the clock and water dribbled down my chin as I started to smile mid-sip. It was time. I wiped off my mouth with the back of my hand and placed the bottle down on the counter, not even bothering to put the cap back on. Who had time for bottle caps on a Thursday morning at 8 a.m.?
I put my earbuds in my ears and tucked the end of the cord into my shirt. It didn't lead to anything. But it was better that people thought I couldn't hear them. It was better that no one tried to talk to me. My whole world was for show. My run couldn't be any different.
I opened up the front door and breathed in the scent of autumn. The fall leaves were wet from the rain the night before. And there was an unmistakable crispness in the air. I loved autumn.
The thought made me pause. My fingers stayed glued to the door handle. Love? What a preposterous thought. I didn't love anything. I didn't believe in love. But addiction? I believed in that. I understood that better than most people. How could I not? I was almost positive I was addicted to him.
Chapter 2
I usually kept my eyes on the pavement in front of me, not daring to let my gaze venture. But today, I couldn't seem to stop looking at the houses. They were all the same. Beige siding. Brown front doors. Perfectly inviting cookie-cutter houses. Designed for cookie-cutter families. I used to crave that. When I was a little girl, I dreamt of everything I didn't have. I wanted it desperately. Much like how I craved him now.
I was naive back then. Now I knew that the things I craved should be kept at arm's length. Fool me once, shame on you. But fool me twice? Not going to happen.
My head snapped toward the sound of a lawnmower starting. The timing was pure perfection. My feet slowed to a light jog, unable to keep my pace when I saw him. Somehow, he always seemed to take my breath away. And all my senses became overloaded. Sight, touch, taste, smell, and sound. My lips parted slightly, an involuntary reaction. We were a whole lawn away. This was the closest I'd ever been to him, and the closest I'd ever be. So why was it so easy to imagine him kissing my lips? Tasting the saltiness of his skin? Feeling the whisper of his breath in my ear?
A daydream. A fantasy so oversaturated that it felt real. More real than anything in my actual life. I wasn't even sure what it was about him that consumed my mind. The way his hair fell slightly on his forehead? The tan that somehow highlighted the cut of his muscles? The kind smile that was much too kind for someone like me?
He looked up as I passed, that same smile I dreamt about crossing his lips. No, it wasn't the smile that had captured me. Although the kindness behind it was part of the intrigue. It was the dimple on his cheek. Not one on each cheek. Just the one. On his left cheek. It was an imperfection. An imperfection on an otherwise perfect physic. It was the imperfection that drew me in.
He waved as he continued to push the mower with his free hand. The first time he had waved to me, I'd immediately snapped my eyes back to the pavement. I had felt the heat cross my cheeks. He had caught me staring. My heart had slammed against my ribcage like I had been running for five miles instead of five minutes. And when I had looked back over my shoulder, he was still staring at me.
But that awkward moment had been 6 months ago. Now we had a routine. He waved and I would wave back. It was less awkward if I waved back. Less abnormal. Most people didn’t have to try so hard to be normal. To me, it was excruciating work. I didn't ever want someone to see through my exterior to the torment inside of me.
I lifted my hand and waved. He smiled and looked back down at the lawnmower. Our exchange was over. And I kept running, refusing to look back. It was better if I dreamt of him staring after me. It was better if I didn't know whether he was or not. I'd never looked back ever since that first day. But it was hard to shake that feeling that his gaze would be on me if I looked over my shoulder.
I picked up my pace as I turned the corner. My obsession with him was ridiculous. I knew nothing about him besides for his appearance. And I knew how meaningless appearances were. I knew I was attractive. My mother always used to say it was the only thing I had going for me. I hated when she'd say that. Maybe that was when my insides started to become twisted and unrecognizable. A compliment turned sour. Morphed into an insult. My insides definitely weren't attractive. I wasn't sure they ever were.
It was hard to not read into his flawless looks, though. When I jogged back in the opposite direction, his shirt would be gone and his appearance would be all I could think about. Perfect timing had its perks. I picked up my pace again. The feeling of my muscles resisting thrilled me. There was no better feeling than pushing myself to the limit. Knowing that my body wouldn't break. That nothing would ever break me no matter how hard everyone seemed to try.