Page 217 of Eternal
His hands, his words, always there, like they’ve etched themselves into my skin, into my bones. I’m trapped in that moment over and over, and it’s not just him.
It’s everything he made me believe in, everything he turned me into. He taught me that I didn’t have the right to feel anything good. That I was too broken, too dirty for anything but pain.
Every part of me feels contaminated by it. His voice still haunts me, screaming that I’m nothing more than the sum of my scars.
Panic is coming on strong…
And now I remember.Everything.
I remember the way Christian liked it when I hummed, how the sound made him shudder, made him almost sweeter,gentler, how it made the pain worse, because I knew it pleased him.
How I’d learned to do it without thinking, a pathetic, broken sound.
I hum the song, and suddenly, I’m there again.
Small.Silent. Splitting open under his weight, the scent of sweat, the slick heat of his breath in my ear, the sharp creak of the bed that wasn’t mine but became my grave anyway.
I wasnothing.
He really liked it when I hummed, and said it made me sound like I wasn’t in pain, even though he knew I was, even though he liked that I was.
And you’re so small…
But I was. Istillam, and I hate it.
I feel Vik’s hand on my ankle.Soft. I’m in the car, not back there. But it doesn’t fucking help. Nothing helps.
I’m drowning, in the taste of blood, in the stinging stretch of skin, in the quiet, rhythmic sounds I made to convince myself I was somewhere else.
I hate myself, I hate myself so much I can’t breathe.
One tear falls. Justone. That’s all I allow.
Just one to remember, to comfort myself.
Vik sees it. I know he does, his eyes flick to mine in the rearview mirror, but he doesn’t speak.
Good. I’d break if he did.
Glassy eyed light of the day…
The song keeps playing, and I hum along, my voice small, fragile.
And for a second, I wish the lyrics were true. I wouldn’t care too much. I would be gone, not trapped in this body that remembers too much, that knows too much about what abuse feels like, what unwanted touch tastes like, what a drunk breath smells like.
A body that’s been used and violated, one that no longer knows what it means to be whole. I let the music take over again. Maybe if I listen hard enough, it will follow the rhythm.
I hum quietly to myself, the words slipping from my lips just enough for me to hear them.
Like she used to, brushing my hair at night.
And likeIused to, when he was on me.
When the bruises would form, and the blood would flow.
I don’t really care…
I close my eyes for a second, I’m breathing, I’mfree, I’m free from the monsters.
