Alex’s departures had become a devastating and infuriating occurrence, though I wasn’t sure which emotion was more dominant at the time. He always seemed to bail at the most inopportune moments, leaving me with a head full of questions and talking to myself like a crazy person. But at least on this occasion he left me with enough time to jump back in bed and pretend to be asleep before David walked in. I wasn’t in the mood to explain to him why I was talking to myself again. I would never be in the mood to explain that.

The hallway light bled from underneath my bedroom door where I saw the shadow of David’s feet cut through the soft illumination. He stood there for a few seconds and then disappeared back down the hall. He was checking up on me less each week. I couldn’t decide if it was because he worried about me less, or because he was sinking deeper into his bottle of whiskey flavored misery.

I couldn’t get back to sleep right away. My mind wrestled and rebelled against me each time I attempted to quiet it. I stared up at the dark ceiling, twisting my dad’s ring around my thumb. I often worried how long it would be before I would start to forget what he looked like. But I guess I held on to his memory so tightly, that even now, it was still crystal clear. For that, I was grateful.

It was David’s face instead that was slipping away.

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