The Gazebo - Thursday afternoon
Meg was terrible. She was terrible and having awful, gut wrenching thoughts. So getting out of the apartment was a must. She was either crying or throwing dishes and she couldn't afford to lose anymore glasses. What was wrong with her? Dean was alive, Sam was back with her, Matthew had a good mommy...
Frowning, she flicked open the knife Dean had given her for her birthday and jabbed it into the wooden bench at her thigh. Over and over she did this, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her.
Certainly it wasn't postpartum depression. Right?
No way. She wasn't even a mother.
"Dammit!" Holding her thumb up, she watched the blood run down her hand. With an angry shake of her head she swiped it across her jeans hoping to staunch the flow.
She hated today.
[It's open. Beware the moody one.]
Frowning, she flicked open the knife Dean had given her for her birthday and jabbed it into the wooden bench at her thigh. Over and over she did this, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with her.
Certainly it wasn't postpartum depression. Right?
No way. She wasn't even a mother.
"Dammit!" Holding her thumb up, she watched the blood run down her hand. With an angry shake of her head she swiped it across her jeans hoping to staunch the flow.
She hated today.
[It's open. Beware the moody one.]