September 8th, 10:40 pm

There are some people on this planet who are okay with hating the world. I wish I could be one of them. I mean the being comfortable part. I already do hate the world periodically.

But right now, tucked under Alex's arm, watching mindless cable TV, I don't think I can hate anything or anyone, not even Elena next door who is worth hating. Being in the orbit of this man's world is more than enough, so imagine my luck when I'm happily able to say that I'm his girlfriend.

I nuzzle my face into his neck and murmur, "You're the best person I've known, Alex Cole."

His eyes, blue as the prettiest sky, look down and his lips curve into the softest smile a human can have. "And I love you more than anything, Raymona Diaz."

"Eww, don't call me that! It's just Mona."

He bumps his nose with mine and simply says, "How are you so perfect?"

I'm not. And he knows that.

For now, though, a smile as wide as my face muscles allow takes over and I bury my face into his shoulder, thanking the universe for giving me this person.
_____________________________________________

September 9th, 2:05 am

"Oh my God, Alex, would you stop being an asshole about this?" I mutter as I get up from the bed. It's better if I just sleep on the couch today. I don't know myself when I'm seeing just red in front of my eyes. So much red that even the blue of Alex's eyes is not enough.

"Why do you even care if I go to Dr. Rhonda or not?" I continue.

"Because,"  he throws up his hands, "because you've been so much better with treatment. I don't want you to slip back."

"Really, so you just like me when the meds shush who I am?"

"No, dammit, you're twisting my words the wrong way. It's for your sake. I don't want you to slip back into depression."

I cross my arms because if I don't, I'll rip my hair off. "Alex, just fucking listen to me. I don't want any drugs—"

"Meds are not drugs."

"—to let me live a happy life."

"Meds don't give you happiness, Mona. They just help you in not pushing it away."

The way he's arguing with me, its pinching at small patches of my skin. And I want to cave a hole in his body now.

"Yes, and obviously you like that dolled up version because no one wants a debby downer girlfriend, right? And as for that, I suppose you don't even want a girlfriend."

His fists clench around the sheets. "Me being bi has nothing to do with this and I swear to God if you bring it up one more time, I'll . . ."

I let a diabolical smirk take over my face. "You'll what? Hit me or something?"

"No!" he shouts, horrified I guess. "Where do you even get those ideas? I'll just fucking leave."

No. He's not doing this again.

"For the love of God, Alex. When will you stop with these threats? Like, every time we have an argument—which most of the times you instigate—you are ready to run to the hills. How very chivalrous of you."

"I instigate  arguments?"  Of course he lunges at just one part of what I said. "Mona, we're having this discussion—"

"Discussion?!"

"—because you're deliberately sabotaging your mental health and I care about that. And I care about you."

In another life, these words would have been enough to bring me down. But today they aren't.

"Well, if you care about me so much, then for once in your petty life, stop trying to control everything I do."

Alex looks like I've smacked him and in the corner of my mind, I think I might as well have.

"I try to control you, Mona? Seriously? You mean that?"

"I think so," I reply with no waver in my voice.

He gets up from the bed and starts to put on his jeans and shirt.

"Wait, where are you going?" I come to stand in front of him. "To your 'no homo' bro George?"

Alex glares at me sharply. "Mona, this is the fourth time you've insinuated that in two days and I suggest you to. Fucking. Stop."

"Or what? You'll leave me and my depressed ass will have no one while you will have pretty faced George and his dick?"

Alex's face shuts down. I mean, not unexpected. There's only so much a person can take. "That's it, Mona. This is, this is it. We are, we're just over. I can't take it anymore. Do whatever you want to do with your depression, make it your pet dog for all I care. I'll collect my stuff in the morning. But yes, I'm done. This is it."

He takes his keys, phone and wallet from the nightstand and storms out, the door to our room wailing behind him.

When I hear the last cry of the main door, I feel safe enough to collapse into myself.

Fuck, you've done it again.