Page 63 of My Lovely Tragedy
My shame sits against my chest every waking moment. Even when I sleep, too. A constant reminder of my own daring ambition and foolishness. Of my trust, so easily given.
And so easily abused.
So, I guess I really do hate myself. And I hate him, too. If only for all the lies. For making me believe I was more than I thought I was.
Turns out, I am a failure and there is no hope.
Only damnation and disappointment.
* * *
Water spurts and hisses,echoing off the walls of the bathroom, the sound cascading through the crack in the door. I can make out Tobias’s form in the sliver of the mirror exposed. And I watch. Because I can and because he wouldn’t tell me to stop.
He drops his glasses onto the sink, head hanging between his shoulders for a long moment before he rises to pull his sweater over his head. His curls flop back across his forehead, thick and wild and untamed. I think about brushing them away from his eyes, the strands now long enough to block his sight, and I hate myself a little more for it.
How easily the thought comes unbidden and gentle.
How much I still want to touch him—be around him.
My eyes squint marginally as I take in a flash of gold tangled in the thick curls on his chest, leading a dark path downward, past where the mirror cuts off his body, just above his belly button. He bends down, disappearing from sight. The light reflects in the glass, and spots flash across my eyes as I stare into it.
And then, he’s back in my line of sight. I catch a flash of his bare thigh in the gap of the door, down to his bare foot, lined with stark veins. Sinewy muscles line his body, more subtle in their appearance, but the prowess lingering beneath is palpable, showcased in the flexing and rolling beneath his skin as he turns and disappears from sight.
I remember feeling that strength. The fear knowing he would catch me—and what that would mean.
The toilet lid slams open, followed by the crack of knees against the floor, and then the wretched sound of vomit hitting the toilet bowl. I wince, rearing back at the sound of him gagging and panting. The slip against porcelain. Then there’s a flush, followed by a soft squeak as his feet hit the tub and the drag of the curtain being pulled shut. All barely audible over the rush of the water.
With furrowed brows, I peer up at the dark ceiling, tracing invisible patterns.
Tobias is nothing like I thought he was—and yet, even being trapped in his cage for days, he’s every bit the same.
It’s confusing and disorienting. Not knowing what’s real and what’s not. If it’s all a lie—and it probably is—then why do I still want to believe him? Why, deep in my gut, do I feel the festering, tingling sensation ofletting go.Giving in and letting him have what he wants.
Afterall, what the fuck could it hurt? I’m already here. At his whim. And in spite of it all, it could be worse.That much I do know.
I fist my hands in my lap, digging my nails into my palms until they throb, and the skin splits. They sink deeper into my flesh, tunneling. Blood cakes beneath, in its rightful place.
The bite gives me nothing but a lightning flash of relief before fear and restlessness and uncertainty clouds back in, stealing everything I have like the selfish bastards they are.
I huff indignantly.Like the selfish bastard Tobias is.
Water pools and slaps across the porcelain, and I’ve never hated a sound more.
With a growl, I shove to my feet. My chains clank as they slide over my legs, my toes. Pooling in their place. I tug against them, feeling the twinge in my wrists as they put too much pressure on the bone.
It aches, deep in my marrow, and I’m sure when all this is said and done, I’ll be left with a permanent reminder of Tobias’s manacles.
I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.
Lip curled, I sneer and yank indignantly.Hate. Definitely hate.
I stomp across the floor to the hearth and stare down at the two spots that keep me here. I’ve already fucking tried yanking, pulling, kicking.Everythingto loosen the bolts in the concrete, but they won’t fucking budge.
It still doesn’t stop me from trying again.
I grab the thick links near their end and wrap them a few times around my forearm, stopping just below my elbow. They bite into my skin, pinching and pulling at the hairs there, but I let the nuisance fuel me with energy I don’t have.
Dropping to the floor, I place my feet against the brick on either side of the hearth, steeling myself. Eyes closed. A breath. Two. Five. Now seven.
