Her neck arched against the back of the chair exposing her throat to anyone who might just feel like killing her that day. But she couldn’t care less; she was too preoccupied with the swirling pattern in her mother’s stucco ceiling. She only moved her head when the spit in her mouth became too much hold and she had to swallow; making her neck straight to open her oesophagus.
Lord she was tired.
She let her head fall, so her chin hit her chest. Her vision blurred with an on-coming headache and she pushed herself from the couch to wander into the kitchen. Tea, that’s what she wanted. Something with a bit of caffeine to keep her awake a bit longer.
Her body felt sluggish and heavy, like everything was on autopilot. She felt as though her whole body was numb. Her dark, heavy lidded eyes lingered a little too long on the knife drawer before she finally turned her attention to acquiring her favourite mug from her cupboard.
Next was the tea.
Not chamomile, not earl gray or sleeping time, no green tea with lemon. Where was the Chai tea? Too tired to be really annoyed she pushed the unwanted tins back into their place on the shelf. As she pushed the last box of tea into place, she nudged another case that was balanced on top of the numerous boxes of dried leaves and flowers. The case slid from a tower of herbal leaves to land into her hands. It was then that she notice what it was, and without so much as a caring glace, she replaced it back on the shelf and dug out her Chai.
She thought it ironic.
The same thing that put her mom in the hospital all those years ago, was now supposed to keep her grounded. As she started to put the box of Chai back into its place, the rectangular case slipped from its perch again, as if forcing her to see it.
Only this time when she put it back on the self, she did not do it quietly so the pills wouldn’t rattle and wake her mother.
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