Chapter Fourty-Two

                                    

                                          
The amount of money Alex has isn't realistic. No matter how much she or Teresa saved, the $900,000 isn't a realistic number for someone who's only 18. But she's been through a lot, so let's lighten up a bit, 'kay? 
 Also trigger warning: explanation of childhood sexual abuse. 
I love you and if anyone needs to talk, message me on here, Instagram or tiktok. I promise I'll reply. 
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Alex Solace
   It's Christmas. 
   A holiday meant for celebration and gift exchange. A day meant for happiness and joy. 
   But I have no happiness or joy in me to spare. 
   I mean... I have some good news, I guess. Good news that should make me happy. But I don't have the energy for happiness.
   For the past week I've been overworking. I've been working so much that my boss gave me a day off at a certain point. But it's worth it if it means I have some money so Mateo and I can live comfortably. 
   Everyday when I pick up Mateo and come home, I go straight to my laptop looking for houses instead of apartments. 
   I even emailed a realtor. 
   (A/n: I've never bought a house, so fuckin' spare me alright?) 
   I feel a tiny smile come up to my lips at the thought. 
   I emailed her pretty quickly, before I even had enough house choices lined up. I contacted her and she said we could schedule a meeting for after the holidays. That's the only thing that's made me remotely excited in the past week.  
   But still. Even with that happening I still feel... drained? Empty? 
   I hate the word numb, but that's how I feel. I hate how fuckin' cliché it is, and I hate that it's the perfect word to describe how I'm feeling right now.
   I don't feel sad, I don't feel happy or angry. I don't even think I feel depressed at this point. 
   I'm not hungry or thirsty. I'm more irritable, I'll admit that. And occasionally a tear or two will fall when I'm laying down. And sure, some slight anger comes into play. But for the most part... I don't know. I feel like the 'meh' emoji, honestly. 
   I feel like I've been on a time loop. Drop off Mateo, work, come home and look for a place to live. I've been doing the same thing for nearly a month now.
   Nearly. I still don't want to believe that I've nearly wasted a month. But I've got some progress. 
   I don't know where we're gonna move yet, but I need to start packing. I can't wait for her to email me back. I already know I'm moving, so I need to pack our stuff.
   I groan, peeking my eyes out from under the blanket to see the bright, natural light peeking in through the window.
   So much to do, so little time. 
   But everything's gonna be fine. I have houses that I picked out and a budget, I have everything for that planned. I just need to start packing and it'll all be fine. Just start putting shit into boxes and everything will be fine. 
   Or at least that's the lie that I keep telling myself. 
   Because everything is not fine. My health isn't fine. My situation isn't fine. My relationship isn't fine.