Depression never goes away. Depression isn't picky. It'll prey on anyone. It doesn't matter if you have hundreds of friends or no friends. It doesn't matter if you're pretty or ugly, fat or skinny. It doesn't matter if your parents love you or if they don't. It doesn't matter if you live in the lap of luxury or if you're the poorest of the poor. Nothing matters. If Depression chooses you, that's it. You've got it.
And it's not just something you can shake off. It sticks to you. Depression makes itself your new best friend and insists on doing everything with you. It's there with you as you're trying to pay attention in class. It's there with you when you go out, trying to have a good time. It's there with you when you stand in front of a mirror, evaluating yourself. It's there when eat and it's there when you sleep.
It's a stalker. A silent stalker that sometimes lays dormant then pops back up just for shits and giggles. It likes to see what new things it can fuck up for you. It laughs at you when you think you're okay. It ridicules you when you have found a small piece of pride buried within yourself. It makes love seem like a Greek tragedy and makes joy seem like something only found in cheesy television commercials.
People will always tell you just to "cheer up" or to "get over it and move on". What these people don't know is that Depression feeds on phrases like that. It multiplies in strength when it hears the words, "Come on, it can't be that bad" and "I can't understand why you're depressed. You have everything. There is nothing for you to be depressed about."
Depression doesn't care if you have a good life. The only thing Depression cares about is how to make you hurt. Depression is a sneaky thing. It works in silence and it works from the inside. No one outside yourself can see the bloody torture of what Depression is doing to you. No one can see how it's slowly picking away at your heart, mind, and soul, turning everything black. It withers what's most important to the human body. It withers the soul and taxes the psyche.
Those who have never met Depression can't understand that. Those who have never shaken hands with Depression can't fathom the depths to which it pulls you. No one who hasn't gone to bed with Depression and felt its cold, calculated passion can understand how it works and why it is the people, who are enveloped by Depression can never just simply "happy up".
Depression can hit you when there is nothing wrong in your life. It can kick you when you're flying high in sky with nothing on your mind. It can pummel when you're rebuilding your life and it can thrash you if you try to ignore its presence.
Depression is a curious being. But not one to be ignored.
**
I drove back to Oz's house, sobbing. Everything had been good for two weeks. I had finally got caught up with my homework and my bruises were gone. I had Xander back, not like before, but it was moving upward. I had been away from my mother and her chaotic, whirlwind of emotions long enough to deal with it in a calm manner. It had been so long since I had drank until I was drunk and I was attending weekly therapy sessions.
I thought that everything was okay, or at least on the road to being okay. But then tonight, Xander and I were slow dancing at the Bronze and something just hit me. It floored me. For no reason, tears began to leak from my eyes and small whimpers escaped from my lips. I tried to bury my face in Xander's shoulder, but he realized that something was wrong.
He pulled away from me, studying my face closely. I tried to look away but he wouldn't let me. That just made me cry harder. Xander asked me what was wrong and I just shrugged my shoulders. I didn't know. I still don't know.
But that answer wasn't good enough for Xander. When he sees tears, he thinks that there has to be a hard and firm reason for them to be there. He doesn't understand not being able to explain them or a mood or a feeling. For him, everything has to be cut and dry, black and white, no gray. He kept asking me with this look on his face that made me feel even worse.
When he finally allowed me to look away from him, I saw that about ten people around us were staring at me. That was just what I needed. Turning around quickly, I pried myself from Xander's arms and ran out of the club, leaving him standing in the middle of the dance floor, stunned.
As I came to a stop in front of Oz's house, I tried to calm myself down. It always upset Oz when I cried this hard. I hurriedly exited my car and flew up the sidewalk and the stairs, opened the front door and went inside. For some reason being in Oz's house was like a Quaalude; it sent calm reassurance to my body.
A little more calmly, I walked up the stairs to his bedroom, then slipped inside. Oz was sitting on the edge of his small bed, strumming his guitar. He looked up when I entered and quirked an eyebrow. "Cordy? I thought you and Xander..." His words trailed off as he saw the black streaks from my mascara running down my cheeks. "God, what's wrong?" he asked as he set down his guitar and stood up.
Holding my hand over my mouth, as if to keep any unwanted sounds in, I shook my head as my feet propelled me over to him. Oz's strong arm wrapped around my waist and helped me down to the bed. With tears still leaking from my eyes, I laid back, kicking my shoes off and curling up into the fetal position.
"Cordelia," he said, a little more frightened than before. "What's wrong?" He lay down beside me, his arm sliding around my waist to pull me back against him.
"I don't know," I whispered as my arms tightened over his. "Everything was fine and then it just...I don't know. It just didn't seem fine anymore." I shook my head, knowing that I was making no sense.
"Okay," he whispered back, soothingly. "It's okay. Do you want me to call your..."
"No," I cut him off. I didn't need my therapist. I just needed...something.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
I shook my head. "There isn't much to say. I don't know what's wrong with me anymore."
"But things were going good, right?" Oz asked, a whisper into my ear.
"Yeah, at least I thought they were."
"Did you and Xander have a fight?"
"No," I answered in a near whimper. "Everything was going fine. And we were having a nice time."
Oz's hand moved up to stroke my hair. "Well, we both knew that you weren't better yet."
"But I want to be better," I whined.
"I know you do. But you haven't had enough time."
I sniffled as my crying ebbed. "I heard Willow tell Buffy that you two talked today."
"Nice change of subject, Cordy."
I smiled despite my sadness. "Thank you. So, how'd that go?"
"It went. You know how it is. Every day's a new struggle. She can't understand why I can't just take her back and I'm not ready to tell her about my father. Then she gets upset because you're staying with me and she thinks that we're doing the naked bump and grind."
"Well we were."
"Yes, Cordelia, were, as in past tense and besides who is she to get all jealous? You know, I know that Xander told her about what's been going on with you and your mother. I just don't understand how she can have that information and then still question the nature of our relationship. She knows you're with Xander and that you're staying here because you can't stay at your house."
Before I could say anything, the phone rang and Oz gently moved off the bed and went about searching his bedroom floor for it. After five more rings, he found it and picked it up. I rolled over to face the wall and closed my eyes, just wanting to sleep.
"Hello? Oh, hey, Xander...Yeah, she's here...No, she's all right. I mean, she's okay for now...Sure, hold on." I rolled back over and gave Oz a tired look. "Big shock. It's Xander. He's worried and wants to talk to you."
"Oz, I can't," I stated simply, my voice flat. I watched as his eyes searched mine.
Giving me a small smile, Oz held the receiver to his ear again. "Xander? Yeah, she's not feeling well...No, man, it's not you...She's just got stuff going on, you know?...Alright, man, I'll tell her. Later." He hung up the phone then set it back down on the broken amp by the bed. "He says he loves you."
All I could do was sigh in response. Oz returned to the bed, wrapping his arms around me. "He's going to think I'm a tweako."
"Hate to break it to you, Cordy, but you *are* a tweako."
I couldn't help but giggle a little. Oz could always make me feel better.
**
The next day Oz and I entered the school together like we always did. Having a routine seemed to help me, so each day, the ritual was nearly the same. Oz would wake me up. He'd force me to eat breakfast then I'd take a shower then he would. Then it was off to school where he'd walk me to all my classes, even when his class was on the opposite side of the building.
"I want to go home, Oz," I whispered to him as I caught a glimpse of Xander standing by my locker.
"I know, but you can't. School, graduate, fun, remember?"
I shook my head. "Fun? What's that?"
"It's the thing that you used to have all the time. You know where you feel really good which may or may not be caused by the activity in which you're involved in at the time. Remember?"
"Vaguely." As we came to a stop in front of my locker, my eyes drifted to the floor. I didn't want to see Xander and I especially didn't want to see the look on his face.
Oz, still very uncomfortable around Xander, turned to me with a little smile. "I'm going to split. I'll see you after class. And don't worry about the test, you'll do fine."
With my eyes a little teary for no reason, I gave him a small smile. "Bye," I said in nearly a whisper and then Oz was gone, swallowed by the sea of students.
"Hey, Cordy," Xander spoke for the first time. Now I had to look at him and when I did I saw that he had a sincerely concerned and supportive look upon his face.
"Hey," I returned, not able to return his smile.
"So..."
"So," I repeated as I nodded my head and opened my locker.
"What was last night about?" he blurted out. He was ashamed for asking in that manner. I could tell because he blushed a little then ducked his head, looking up at me through his lashes. It is what he always does when he's done or said something stupid.
"I don't know," I answered honestly as I gathered my books and shut the locker door. "I guess I just got too comfortable."
"Too comfortable?" he repeated, not quite understanding.
"In your arms," I whispered. This time it was me ducking my head and looking up through my lashes. He looked a little shocked. "I don't think that I can have that."
Shaking his head, Xander asked, "Have what?"
"Comfort like that. It's too soon for everything and I don't think I should be getting that comfortable with you that quickly."
"Isn't that we were trying to do in the first place? Get comfortable with each other again?" He placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I." We began to walk to Mrs. O'Donnell's class in silence. When we reached the door, I stopped and placed a hand on Xander's forearm to stop him. "Look, I, I don't really know what's going on and I know that it's probably a little...scary for you. It is for me too. I've just got these things that need dealing with."
Xander brushed the back of his hand against my cheek. "I know. I want to help, Cordy. I feel like all this is my fault."
Shaking my head, I said, "No, it's not. Seeing you...and Willow...like that didn't make my mother hit me. It just threw me for a loop."
"I still feel responsible and I want to help. I need to, Cor."
I nodded at the sincerity in his voice. "I know, but I'm not sure what it is that you can do. *I* am the one who has to do the work."
"But I can support you, right? Be there for you?" I nodded, giving him a small smile. "I want to help you like Oz helps you."
"Xander," I started, knowing that he couldn't help me the way that Oz did.
"No, Cordelia," he said, stopping any other words out of my mouth. "I don't mean that I want to replace him, I just want to help like him."
The bell rang before I could say anything, but during class Xander passed me a note. It asked if I wanted to do anything tonight, to which I replied that I didn't want to go to the Bronze. I wasn't ready for that again. He wrote back saying that he wasn't thinking of the Bronze; he was thinking of just me and him alone, some place quiet where we could talk. I agreed.
**
That night, I found myself driving to Xander's and my old make out spot. When he suggested it, I gave him my icy stare, but he waved it off, saying that he wasn't going to try anything; he just wanted to talk.
As I turned off the engine, I turned to Xander, remembering all the good times we had in this very spot. "Xander, I'm sorry I'm flaky."
Taking my hand in his, he replied, "Don't apologize. Any and all flakiness is to be expected. Not that you're a flake, but you know with all the stuff that's happened," he covered quickly. I gave him a smile and then silence loomed over us for a minute. He broke it, asking, "Why didn't you ever tell me about your mother, Cordy?"
"It's not something I can just talk about, Xander."
"But you told Oz, right?"
"No," I defended as I shook my head. I wasn't being accused of anything, but I couldn't help but get defensive. "He was there when my mother hit me." I paused for a moment to calm myself. There was no need to get angry, Xander was only asking a question. "And I swear that before, it was never that bad. It was only a hit here and kick there, not like...not like what happened..."
"Cordelia, I'm sorry about what I did to you. I never meant..."
I sighed. "Xander, please. You've already said that. Can't we just let it be."
His hand tightened slightly on mine. "But I want you to forgive me."
"I have...mostly."
"Mostly?"
I nodded as I retook my hand. "Yeah. I've forgiven you for kissing her. And for having your hand on her breast. And for doing it in the library. I've even forgiven you for the hurt it cause me to see you like that. But I can't forgive your lack of consideration for me, Xander. I don't understand why you didn't think of me once while you..."
"I did think of you. All the time. I wanted to stop but it was like a snowball rolling down a steep hill. It just got bigger and bigger and harder and harder to end the kissing, but I wanted to."
I shook my head. "I don't think you could've been thinking about me when you were groping her."
"I wasn't," he admitted. "I was thinking about my dick. But before and after the groping and kissing, you were the only thing on my mind.
"Why didn't we ever have sex, Xander?" I blurted out. "I mean, we had plenty of opportunity. What was I supposed to think when I saw you two? You wouldn't have sex with me but with her..."
"No, Cordy," he stated firmly as his hands grasped mine. "It wasn't like that. She and I didn't do anything more than what you saw. I always stopped us from going too far because I'm not good enough or worthy or whatever. I mean," he paused, looking down. "Cordy, you're so...perfect and I'm...so not."
I looked at him skeptically but he seemed sincere. He looked up as he continued to speak and I could see the honesty in his eyes. "I've wanted you so badly for so long. You can't imagine how many sexual fantasies you've been the star of. I mean, back before we were going out, back in eight grade, I was imagining what it would be like to be with you like that." Letting go of one of my hands, he stroked my cheek. "But then when I finally got the chance, I couldn't. You're like this...amazing being, this Goddess, you know? And who am I? I'm Xander, the geekboy, who has absolutely no experience in how to make a beautiful creature like you happy."
"I want to be happy," I whispered more to myself than to him.
"I want to make you happy," he returned, his voice low. He slowly leaned towards me and I let him kiss me. Xander's lips felt so good on mine, so soft and warm, so comforting. I slid one of my hands up his arm and clutched his shoulder as we deepened the kiss.
Moving carefully, I managed to move from the driver's seat to the passenger seat. Now I was sitting on top of Xander, my arms about his neck, his arms tight around my waist. His mouth moved from my, dipping down until he was worshipping my collarbone with his lips.
My mouth attached to his earlobe and as I gently sucked, my body rocked against his. The familiar wetness seeped from my core as his erection made itself known. "Make me happy," I whispered in his ear, genuinely believing that he could.
Xander's hands moved to the front of my button down shirt and he carefully began to unbutton it. His hands peeled away the fabric, exposing my black satin bra to his eyes. Tenderly, he pulled the cups down, allowing the majority of my breasts to be exposed to the warm night air. As one of Xander's hands began to tweak one nipple, his mouth began to suck and pull at the other.
I bit his ear lightly and moaned, moving my body faster against his.
I finished peeling my shirt down my arms before I attempted to remove his. Xander's mouth and hand were still connected to the soft flesh of my breasts. I pulled back, forcing him to let go. Quickly, I pulled his shirt off, tossing it to the driver's side where my shirt lay.
His hand reached down between the seat and the door to pull the lever and suddenly the back of the seat reclined. I moved forward, rubbing my hard nipples on his chest while my mouth attached itself to his throat. Xander ran his hands over my back, stopping to clutch my shoulders for a moment, then moving down to the small of my back.
He unzipped my skirt and I hastily moved off of him, managing to crouch in the tiny area by his feet. I slid the skirt down, along with my black panties, then set about removing Xander's pants.
When I had gotten them down to his knees, he sat up, his hands grasping me by my upper arms and pulling me up. Giving him a quizzical look, I asked him what was wrong, all while pressing my uncovered pussy down on his boxer covered cock.
"Maybe we're moving too fast," he choked out.
Scratching my nails down his chest, I lapped at his pulse point. I mumbled, "No," before my hands moved lower. I leaned into him, forcing him back down on the seat and lifted myself up a bit while I forced his boxers off. "Not too fast, Xander. Just right."
He didn't say anything else until I moved myself over his cock and slid down. "Oh, Christ," he moaned, his hands instinctively moving to my hips.
Once he was entirely inside me, I sat up farther, my hands rising above my head and pushing up against the ceiling of the car. Wriggling on top of him for a moment, I leaned back, my hands now moving to the dashboard behind me. That was it. His cock pressed up against just the right spot and it made my lust grow tenfold.
I began to move on him, building a slow rhythm. After a few minutes, the throbbing of my clitoris became nearly unbearable, so I moved forward, pressing my chest to his and using the base of his cock to stroke my clit.
My mouth found Xander's and began to plunder it. I had begun to whimper in time with my movements and now I heard his groan. He was close. Snaking a hand between us, my fingers parted my folds and found my clit. A pinch and a twist was all it took to send me spiraling over the edge. Xander slammed up into me hard and I heard him grunt. I lightly bit his lower lip as he and I came together.
We laid there quietly for a moment before I began to move off of him. His arms tightened around me, holding me to him. "Stay here. With me," Xander said softly, his now flaccid cock still buried inside of me.
"Xander..." I was uncomfortable and for some reason what I had just done with Xander was no longer what I wanted. As he kissed my forehead, all I could think about doing was getting out of there. All I wanted to do was put on my clothes, drive him home and then go back to Oz's house and crawl into his small warm bed and bury my head in the covers.
What only moments ago seemed so right, now seemed so completely wrong. I moved again, this time breaking his hold on me. I sat up, then lifted up, allowing his cock to slip from within me. Reaching over, I found my shirt and tugged it on after readjusting the cups of my bra. My shirt buttoned half way, I refused to look at Xander as I gave him his shirt. His hands were on my hips and out of the corner of my eye, I could see the worried look on his face.
I turned around so that I was facing the foggy front window. I was still sitting on his lap when I found my skirt and panties and tugged them on. Quickly, I moved over to the driver's seat and waited with my hands on the wheel for him to finish dressing.
"Cordy," Xander said my name hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"
"No," I answered him, still not looking at him. "I'm just tired and I want to go home."
"No, Cordy," he said firmly as his hand gently grasped my chin and turned my head so that I'd have to look at him. He spoke slow and deliberately. "What's wrong, Cordelia."
"Nothing," I answered unconvincingly. Sudden tears popped into my eyes. I couldn't explain them.
"I don't believe that," Xander said quietly. "Is it what we did? Did I do something wrong?"
I shook my head, his hand still on his face. "No. It's not... I'm just... It's not you...or what we did...or maybe it is...I don't know."
"Great," he said as he let his hand drop from my chin. "That's great."
"Xander," I whispered. I didn't want to hurt him. I couldn't explain anything anymore and it seemed that all I did was mess up.
"No, it's okay, Cordelia." Xander straightened in his chair, looking out of the clearing window. "It's okay. We'll just go and you can talk to *Oz* about what's wrong."
I physically winced at the venom in his voice. "What?"
"Yeah, I'm sure Oz can help you with everything. He's *so* good at it. You can tell him that you fucked me and it was a mistake or I wasn't good or whatever the hell is wrong."
My voice trembling and tears pouring from my eyes, I asked again, "What?"
"You're *so* toying with me, aren't you?" His voice was harsh and dripping with anger. "This whole thing..."
"Yeah, Xander," I yelled back at him, tired of no one understanding me and of not understanding myself. "Everything's about you! You're right, I'm toying with you. I fucking get off on it. I do it to all the boys, don't you know?" I paused, the anger building in me. "I pretend to be depressed and I lose ten pounds and I give myself bruises so that everyone will think my mom beats me, then I lure the guy up here in my car and fuck him! That's what I do, Xander. Know why? 'Cause it's fucking fun! It's a good time."
"Cordelia," he broke in my tirade quietly.
I ignored him. "Is that what you want to hear? That I truly am fucking with you for my pleasure?"
"Cordy," he said again, this time his hand moving to clutch my arm. "I'm sorry."
"No," I yelled as I pulled my arm away. "You're not. You're not sorry. You want to turn all this around and make it about you. Well, it's not."
"Cordy, please."
"Forget it," I said as I put on my seatbelt and started the car. "I don't know why I thought that we could have anything together again." I put the car in reverse and pulled out.
Within ten minutes, I had left Xander standing on the curb in front of his house with a sad, confused look on his face and had made it back to Oz's. I entered the house and as I climbed the stairs, I began to pull off my clothes. I didn't care if Oz saw or if his mother did or anyone else for that matter.
I made it to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Wasting no time, I shed the rest of my clothing and turned on the shower. Stepping in, my mind began to wander. Sex with Xander had been great. My actions weren't because of him. And I couldn't explain how irrational I acted after it. That was what bugged me, that I could explain it. I couldn't understand it at all, so how could anyone else be expected to?
**
Stepping into the spare room with a towel wrapped around my body and my hair still wet, I quickly found the bottles of vodka I had taken from my house. I opened one and took a healthy draw, enjoying the burn as it traveled down my throat. I took another one before recapping it and leaving the room.
I didn't say anything as I entered Oz's room. I kept my head down as I closed the door behind me. Oz was sitting on the bed, a book in his hands. It was one of those self-help books his therapist recommended he read.
"Cordelia, how was your date? Better than last night, I hope." I didn't reply. Instead I moved to the bed, my eyes still downcast. I lost the towel along the way. Lying down on the bed, I rested my head on his thigh. "Cordy? You okay?" I wrapped my arms around his legs and pressed my face into the denim covering his thigh.
I felt him move, putting the book down on the broken amp by the bed. One arm moved around my shoulders, rubbing gently, while the other hand ran through my wet tangled hair. After a moment, he lifted my head and scooted down the bed, making my arms unwrap around his legs. They wrapped around his waist quickly and my head lay on his shoulder while his hand continued to stroke my hair. "Tell me what's wrong, Cordy."
I lifted my head to look into his eyes. "Do you want some vodka?"
"No, I don't. What's wrong?" he asked again.
"We haven't drank in a really long time, Oz."
"Cordelia," he said firmly. "What is wrong? What happened on your date?"
"I fucked him," I answered, accentuating the word fuck.
"Oh."
I continued, "And then I messed with his head and made him look at me with the saddest face I've ever seen."
"Cordy..."
"I'm just a fuck up, Oz."
"Don't say that."
"Okay, how about, I'm a giant slut who likes to make people feel bad? Can I say that?"
"Cordelia, you're not a slut and I'm sure you didn't mean to make him feel bad."
I shook my head. "I don't know what happened, or why I thought that having sex with him was right, or why I think it's wrong now or what!"
"It's okay, Cordelia."
"It's not," I protested.
We were quiet and still for nearly a half-hour before I put my mouth to his. Again, I couldn't explain it; I just wanted to kiss him. At first he kissed back. It was a gentle, tender kiss. A 'little more than friends' kiss. Then I deepened it, forcing my tongue into his mouth and throwing my leg over his. I rubbed his crotch with one of my hands, smiling a little when I felt his cock respond.
It was then that he pushed me away. His hand moved to mine and pulled it away and his other hand moved to my shoulder and pushed me off of him. His actions making me angry, I got off the bed and stood beside it, glaring down at him. The expression on his face made me realize what I had been doing.
My face crumbled and my limbs shook. I sank down to the floor, my eyes leaking fresh tears. I was so tired of crying. If I could only just stop crying...
With my head in my hands, I felt Oz drape a blanket over my shoulders. He gathered me up and held me to him, soothing me with his seductively calm words. He always knew how to calm me.
**
Oz woke me up for school and I told him that I wasn't going. He didn't argue with me; just suggested that I call my therapist. Oz left, saying he'd get my assignments.
I was too tired to move out of bed until around one in the afternoon. I put one a pair of panties and a bra and moved from Oz's room to the spare room. Grabbing the bottle of vodka I had opened the night before, I returned to Oz's room to sit down on the floor, covered by dirty clothes, and drink.
**
At about half passed two, I had drank the entire bottle and had the headache the size of Montana or Ohio, but since I was drunk, I couldn't remember which on was bigger or louder. I got up, moving to the bathroom to get the bottle of painkillers Oz's mother used. After retrieving the bottle without really looking, I snagged another bottle of vodka to wash down the pills.
When I sat back down, I found that I was near the phone. For some reason, I thought it would be a great idea to call Xander's house, so I punched in the numbers even though I knew no one would be there. I was right. I got his answering machine. "Xander. Cordelia. I mean, it's Cordelia. I mean, you'd probably know it was me even if I hadn't said anything, but whatever. I called....I called 'cause I wanted to tell you that even though it doesn't seem like it, I do love you. And I'm sorry for being...me. All fucked up." Half-way through, my voice had begun to shake. "I'm sorry. I...God, I'm so dumb."
I hung up the phone as my headache grew stronger. I popped open the bottle and poured a couple of the small pills into my hand. Popping them into my mouth, I set the bottle down on the floor and picked up the bottle of vodka. Taking a long pull from the bottle, I swallowed, washing them down my throat.
The bottle of pills fell over and several spilled out of the container. I picked them up and instead of putting them back in the bottle, I put them in my mouth, taking another swig of vodka. For the next couple of minutes, I just sat there, putting more pills in my mouth and washing them down with the alcohol. I wasn't even thinking about what I was doing.
For some reason I looked down and saw that there weren't many pills left in the bottle. I started feeling strange, sort of like when you're in a dream and your body is moving, but if feels like you're moving through warm liquid. My breathing quickened and my brow creased.
After a few moments, I began to panic. I was pretty sure I was going to die and that hadn't been my intent. I was lying on my stomach when my hand brushed up against the phone. I tried to think about what to do, but I was having trouble focusing.
Suddenly, a number jetted through my mind and I picked up the phone and dialed, hoping that the number was to the right place.
"Sunnydale High School Library, Rupert Giles speaking."
"Gi-Giles. I'm sick," I whispered.
"Hello?"
"Giles," I said a little louder.
"Cordelia, is that you?"
"Giles, I don't feel well." My voice was weak and came out breathy.
Giles spoke, his voice filled with concern. "Cordelia, what's wrong?"
"Pills, Giles. I took too many. I don't feel well. I didn't mean..."
"You took too many pills? What pills, Cordelia?" His voice was worried and insistent.
"Don't know. Giles," I cried. Tears seeped from my narrowed eyes. "I'm cold and hot."
"Stick your fingers down your throat, Cordelia. Make yourself..." That was all I heard.
The phone fell away from my ear as a blackness descended on me. Everything faded into nothingness.
**
I woke up in a very bright room filled with a lot of beeping machines. I wasn't dead and my body let me know by sending waves of pain from my head to my toes. I barely remembered what happened. All I remembered was the phone, vodka and pills.
After what seemed like an hour, my therapist, Barbara came in. She was surprised to see me awake. She told me about my accidental overdose and my near death experience. I asked when I could see Oz, but she didn't answer. She just said that he's worried and that he and at least four other people have stopped by inquiring about me.
Barbara also informed me how long I would be staying in the hospital. It wasn't pretty. I asked how long it would be until I got visitors and she told me that it depended on me and how well I did in "recovery."
I sighed. I already didn't like it, but it didn't seem like I had a choice. How defeating.
**
Depression grabs a hold of you and shakes you like a rag doll until your neck breaks, you can't feel your body, your eyes can't focus and your brain refuses to work.
Depression has a job to do and it performs it well. Depression always gets its man.
Depression kills you from the inside.
~**~
The End