Page 59 of Play Dirty
I sit back on the cold ground, the toilet flushes, but it does nothing to clear the burn in my throat or the image seared into my brain. I slump against the stall, my fingers coated in vomit, and pull my legs into my chest as if I could shield myself from what I witnessed. My body shakes violently, not from the cold, but from something much worse.
My father.
Nico.
I can’t make sense of it all. I don’t even want to try.
I wipe my mouth and then my hands. I stare at the scratched-up bathroom stall door as if it could give me any answers. Of course, nothing is there. Just the ghost of my dignity and the mess of what I thought I knew. I think I start crying, or maybe I’m just breathing too hard to tell the difference. Either way, my face is wet and my chest feels like it’s caving in.
Then
Buzz..
My phone lights up beside me.
I flinch… too scared to look.
Still, I do.
Anonymous
Now you know the truth. Can you trust him?
I grip the phone so tight, I think I might crack the screen. I want to scream. I want to puke. Yet, all my body can do is remain frozen. I stare at the screen as I wait for another bomb to drop. Anything to stop the gaping wound from opening inside my chest.
Buzz.
Anonymous
The truth ain’t always pretty. That one is pretty ugly.
My stomach churns again, I let out a barky cough as I try to push back the sour acid climbing its way up my throat. Like a snake it chokes me from the inside out, forcing me to swallow it back down. I remain on the ground, drowning in my bile and shame. Whoever’s sending these messages isn’t just watching. They are orchestrating.
Pulling the strings, like a fucking puppeteer.
And I’m just another player for them to use.
But why?
Why did I need to see this ?
Why him?
I force myselfto stand, gripping the stall as my heart rips to shreds inside me. The door feels like it might steady me. It doesn’t. Still through weak knees I manage to stumble out of the bathroom in a daze, every step echoing in my head. The club seems louder now, bodies grinding and light flashing. No one knows what I saw.
No one acts any different.
No one knows the sorrow I once again carry.
Except for whoever is texting me. Toying with me.
I can’t breathe.
I just have to make it outside, in here the walls feel like they are closing in on the verge of collapsing around me. I make it outside, the cold slapping me awake. I need more air. Why can’t I breathe?
I inhale.
Trying to force my fucking lungs to expand.
