Page 18 of Penance

Cleanse me.

Phantom hands brush over my skin making me grit my teeth, I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Rocking myself back and forth, I hum, comforting my fractured thoughts. What can I do to make it better? What cleans things?

My eyes snap open frantically, searching for something.

Anything.

Soap’s not strong enough, I need to strip this pain away, the feelings. Get rid of it all. Make me fresh. Clean. New.

I crawl across the small shower base, thick steam billowing around me as I reach out. My working fingers latching around the neck of a yellow bleach bottle sitting beside the toilet. Unscrewing the cap with my teeth, I spit it away from me, tipping the almost full bottle, up-ending it down my chest. Covering myself with as much of it as I can before tossing the empty bottle away from me. I scrub at my skin frantically with every ounce of energy I have, my skin angry and raw as I work my one good hand over myself.

I want my boys to want me, and I can’t be like this for them. I feel like my past is rushing back, haunting me, unnerving me,ruiningme. Destroying me and everything I’ve built. Like the sea swallowing a sandcastle. It looks impenetrable, built sturdy and strong but at the end of the day, it’s just sand, singular and fragile pieces.

I’m coming undone. Poisoned stuffing finally bursting through the delicate stitching that once held me together.

The smell of bleach fills the windowless room, burning my eyes. The extractor fan not engaging because I didn’t turn the light on, keeping me submerged in the darkness.

I just need all the voices to stop.

I crawl on my bare knees to the cabinet under the sink, the cold tile floor bruising my knees as I scramble over them, water puddling around me. One hand hanging limply at my side, my other fumbling to find the gun I have hidden in here. I’ve stashed weapons all over this house; there are enough guns and knives tucked around this place to stock a small armoury. I feel safer that way, knowing I have access to something deadly, the thought makes me smile. My fingers find the grip and I rip it free, taking it back into the shower with me, a flood of water trailing across the floor. I need to make everything stop. Just for a minute. I need to feel the silence.

The scalding water pounds down heavily against my hot skin. Singeing my flesh like acid, dripping from my bones and washing down the drain but I’m stilldirty.

“Always, always dirty,” I cry, fisting my sodden hair.

Tapping the muzzle of the gun against the side of my head, the heavy metal of it feeling feather light in my grip. I suddenly hear muffled voices somewhere close by but I’m so far away now. Iwantto be far away. I’m too damaged. I was stupid to think I could have a relationship with someone,someones. There must be some ulterior motive for them, there has to be, why are they doing this?

They’re liars.

It’s all lies, Kyla-Rose, they don’t want you, they want to ruin you, destroy you, finally end you once and for all. You could end it now, before they take all the control away from you, take the power and silence it.

“Shut the fuck up!” I scream, my trembling hand hammering the muzzle into my temple over and over. “I can’t do this if you don’t shut up, stop fucking talking, stop the fucking whispers!”

My breath all but leaves my body, I can’t get any air in. The hot steam fills the room with clouds, the bleach smell suddenly overwhelming, the gun still gripped firmly in my uninjured hand. A river of blood flowing from the other, coating me in crimson, the water turning red.

Breathe.

Fucking breathe.

The bathroom door flies open. Kacey’s huge body barrelling through it, the solid wood splitting against its gold hinges. The hall light illuminating just enough of his sunshine-coloured eyes, widening obscenely large as he looks at me. Huxley and Max crowd in behind him, filling up the space, their presence eating up all the air, casting me, once again, in shadow.

“I need the noise to stop,” I plead with him, my voice barely a whisper. “I need the quiet, stay back,” I say shakily.

Putting the palm of my wounded hand out in front of me, gesturing him back, warning him away. The ruined stitches snagging harder at my torn skin, my fingers almost useless as my entire arm screams in protest. Blood running down my arm at the stretch, dripping from the crook of my elbow.

“Sweetheart, put the gun down. Slide it over to me, please,” Kacey requests calmly, his amber-yellow eyes still bright and beautiful even in the dark of this room.

Kacey; my protector.

The water pounds down on my back and a smile ghosts my lips as I look at him. He truly is an angel, devastatingly handsome, but his jaw is set, his teeth clenching, and his forehead creased. I frown at what I see on his pretty face.

“Why you so sad, Big Man?” I ask him quietly, my words mumbling, tilting my head to one side as I consider him.

My eyes flick to Huxley next. His eyes so black in the darkness of this windowless room that it frightens me a little, his usual laughter and light all but gone from them. I screw my face up as I look at him. He’s supposed to be my safety.

Why are they looking at me like that?

Because they know you’re broken.

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