Page 113 of Eternal
By the time I’m done, my hands are trembling.
I let the needle drop into the sink and press the heel of my palm against my forehead, my breathing is shallow, uneven.
I reach for the cabinet again, this time for the painkillers. The bottle is cool in my palm, the label worn from how many times I’ve held it, and my stomach clenches.
It would be easy, so fucking easy. One, just one, to take the edge off, to make the shaking stop.
But I can’t, I need to breathe and calm down, the pain will disappear eventually.
I’ll never get over it, the need to feel the numbness, to not feel.
It never felt like chains, but it was.
“I need you to be free.” The whisper is loud in my head but quiet in front of my reflection.
“I. Need. You. To. Be. Free.”
I swallow hard and slam the door shut.
Not tonight.
I push myself up, force my legs to move. A quick shower, hot enough to burn, the blood spirals down the drain, turning the water pink, I scrub hard, but some things don’t wash off.
Scars and ink stretch across my body, carved deep into my skin.
My arms, my ribs, my back reminding me quietly of every fight, every kill, every loss, every moment I didn’t die when Ishould have. Nothing soft, nothing delicate. It was a body built for abuse.
I trace a scar over my hip, fingers skimming the raised flesh.
Would a man even know what to do with me? Could I ever be normal? Even if I wanted to try, even if I faked it, how long before the truth bled through?
I shake the thought away and turn the water hotter, until the heat stings and the steam chokes me, but even with the water pounding down, it feels like hands pulling me under, dragging me down to hell, the weight of everybody I’ve left behind pressing against me, whispering, screaming at me there's no way out. No heaven waiting, only this, the pain, the frustration, the blood.
I was born in hell, and my ashes will return to it.
So why dream? Why stop? It’s already written.
I rinse the last of the blood away, step out, and wrap a towel around myself. The mirror is fogged, but I can still see the faint outline of my reflection. I don’t look. I can’t.
I dry off, wrap a fresh bandage around my ribs, and throw on a loose hoodie. I step into the kitchen, make tea with the last of my strength, and sit on my sofa with the same blanket over me. It’s comforting. To have his ghost hugging me.
I sip the tea, ignoring the way my hands won’t stop shaking. My phone sits next to me, silent. The world is still, and I like it. It’s so calm, so soft. I can focus on my breathing before having to put the new information I gathered off Donovan. Then, it rings.
Who’s calling me tonight?
Damir.
I’m not in the mood for that… I pick it up on the third ring, hoping he is simply calling because I forgot to send him a picture today. “Yeah?”
“Hello to you too, partner. Always a pleasure to hear your voice even behind a screen,” I can hear his smile from here, but I’m in too much pain to focus on that right now. “Busy?”
I lean back into the couch, curling into the blanket even more, eyes on the ceiling. I sense cold droplets of water on my back, I need to dry my hair, or maybe braid it?
“I’m busy, Damir. What do you want?”
There’s a pause, then he chuckles. “What are you doing at this time of the night?”
I let out a soft breath, pushing my fingers through my hair. “Nothing that should worry you.”
