Page 3 of Scarred in Silence
I did it. It’s all over now.
* * *
The smell of cigarettes crawls into my nostrils, thick and stale. I try to open my mouth, but my tongue feels heavy and dry, like sandpaper. My eyes break open the crusty film and adjust to the dim light. Where am I?
The floor isn’t the brown-stained carpet I remember nodding off to. It’s a wooden floor with not a single imperfection. My eyes dart left and right, scanning for someone, anyone.
Nobody is here.
I feel as if my limbs are made of steel as I try to bring myself upright. The lamp in the corner of the room casts an eerie glow over the furniture. It’s probably a king-sized bed because of its size. The red silk sheets slide over my feet as I try to stir them to life. What the fuck happened?
I remove the blanket, and I’m immediately hit with the cool air pressing between my thighs. Of course, someone took advantage of me while I was passed out. I roll my eyes at myself, knowing this will be my life forever. My sweat-covered t-shirt clings to my upper body. I bring myself to shaky legs as my head pulses—a wave of nausea bubbles inside of me.
I stumble to the opening of a bathroom, barely making it to thetoilet before my insides turn inside out.
My stomach knots, as if vice grips are twisting it. I dry heave over the porcelain bowl, staring into the water. The water appears to be feet away from me as my vision tunnels. Black spots dance around the edges of my vision. I back away from the bowl and rest my back against a cool tiled wall.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I press my eyes shut as I take deep breaths. Inhale… Exhale… Inhale…
“Was I that bad?” A voice booms from the opening of the bathroom, echoing off the walls.
My eyes spring open as I push my body back further into the wall, hoping it will open up like a portal and swallow me whole. Sweat lines my forehead as I try to focus on the man standing in the doorway. I don’t recognize him.
“W-who are you?” My voice comes out hoarse and ignorant.
Heavy footsteps approach me, filling me with regret. He squats down before me, bringing himself to eye level. The combat boots he wears are black and clean. His black jeans and fitted white t-shirt make his blue eyes appear bright, electric. His face is covered in stubble, and his dirty blonde hair is slicked backward.
He chuckles.
“All this time I thought he was lying… You really are whore with a drug problem, huh?”
His lips curl into a smile as he skates his eyes over my body. His gaze lingers between my thighs. I clench them together tightly, feeling exposed.
“Oh, come on. Don’t act like you didn’t love spreading them for me last night.”
He stands slowly in front of me. His erection bulges in his jeans. I glance down, looking away. Why am I alive? I should have been dead last night.
I press my eyes shut, trying to remember something—anything. The last thing I remember is hearing Lucien yell at me. His presence lingers over my shoulder like an omen. A shiver crawls down my spine.
After that, everything went black. Everything ended.
“It’s common not to remember anything after you overdose. Don’t sweat it.”
His words weigh on my conscience. I overdosed. His footsteps grow quiet as he exits the room.
How does he know that? Who the Hell is he?
If I overdosed, then who saved me?
“D-did you save me?” My voice is barely audible over the throbbing migraine.
His footsteps stop. The room is drenched in silence.
“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t,” he chuckles to himself as he leaves me to drown in my feelings.
“C-can I leave?”
