Page 49 of Blade

I’ve started my bachelor's, something I didn’t realize I could qualify for until I saw the guidance counselor and she explained I was more than qualified and I complete the work with ease.

I’m trying to live my life like my therapist encouraged me before I stopped seeing her, only going to the allotted time I was forced to do. I’m trying to move forward, but it’s hard. Every day is a fight.

Five weeks overall that I had to spend in the psych ward, having my every move watched.

The first three were to ensure my mental health was where it needed to be, where they could confirm I wasn’t going to try and kill myself again. I won’t lie, I have thought about it every day.

I see a passing car, and I wonder if I jump in front of it, would it kill me instantly and that is always after a memory of Brock touching me sends me into a spiral.

Living with the memories without Leo there to help take them away is slowly making me insane. I’m not sleeping properly and barely eating, but I’m pushing through.

There were a lot of people on the psych ward that probably had it worse than me, maybe, and they were fighting, they were pushing through, so I’m trying. I am trying, but I can feel myself slipping.

“Hey, Lottie, do you have work tonight?” Drew, a classmate and fellow bartender, whispers. I hum in confirmation, and he grins, “Awesome," as he looks me up and down and then walks down the stairs. I watch him leave the light brown room and shake my head.

He has a crush, and yeah, I’ll admit I made out with him after a shift a few months ago. It was just to see if he’ll take away the pain like Leo did, but all I felt was dirty like I was cheating. I guess that isn’t the first time that I’ve felt that way.

The same thing happened after Brock raped me.

Sighing, I grab my bag and walk down the steps, trying to ignore the feeling of wanting to trip myself so I can fall down the stairs.

Geez, if Dr. Lash could hear my thoughts, he’d have me committed.

After three weeks in the psych ward, I was finally given the okay to have an abortion. It’s something even now I don’t know if I can live through. The doctor let slip the baby had a heartbeat and despite knowing the baby could have been Brock’s, the guiltburns inside me and my thoughts get away from me every day making it hard to breathe.

What if the baby was Leo’s?

What if it would have looked like him?

But what if the baby was Brocks…

I sigh as I walk out of the room with a group of students, keeping my head down. I was forced to stay on the ward for a further two weeks because I didn’t show any signs of emotion except pain when I felt like I was having a bad menstrual cycle after I took the pills to kill the baby.

For two weeks, I kept my head held high and stored my emotions away. As soon as I was signed out, I had a list in my mind. A list I was adamant to carry out before I could let my emotions out. I went to the hostel, picked up my car, which thankfully didn’t have any tickets on it or had been broken into, drove to a quiet parking lot, and then broke down.

I didn’t need to give them any other reason to keep me in that place, and as soon as I was released, I had the breakdown I needed for a while. Twenty-four hours before I went out to find a small apartment to rent using the money I had saved from working at the diner. I enrolled myself in part-time school, before finding my job at Kitty’s Girl’s.

It isn’t the best job, but it pays well. I just have to ignore all the grabby hands.

I dodge around chatty students, ignoring everyone who smiles and laughs, envying them because I know for a fact that I will never be them.

God, I’m such a Debbie downer today.

I shake my head, pick up my speed, and head to my car. I have a shift tonight and three classes tomorrow, so if I want to eat, then now is the time.

“Two shots of sambuca and one for yourself, sweet cheeks,” the slimy man says before me. But instead of cringing like mybody wants, I smirk and take his money, putting it in the till before I grab three shot glasses and the sambuca.

I fill all three, passing two to him, then without flinching, I down my shot before spinning the glass and dropping it upside down on the bar and say, “Thanks,” making him grin as he looks over my body with lust before he grabs his shots and walks off.

I’ve been here for two hours, the place is buzzing, the strippers are doing their thing, and I’ve had at least three shots already.

“Fuck how do you handle all those shots?” Drew asks, and I look his way as he runs his hand through his light blonde hair, eyeing my breasts in my tight top.

I just shrug and grin, letting the alcohol soothe me in ways Leo did before going to the next customer. I don’t bother to explain that drinking has become my saving grace.

What better way to forget everything than pouring free liquor down my throat then passing out in my car in the parking lot before waking two hours later and driving home, most likely still drunk?

I may have also been a little drunk when I made out with Drew, but drinking the next night helped take away the guilt. That and knowing Leo is most likely screwing every club girl to his heart's content dampened my guilt, but to be honest, that thought just sent me spiraling even more.

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