Page 83 of Drown Like Heaven
He was the thorn in my side I’d never be able to dig out. The poison and the antidote.
I narrowed my eyes, and I knew he could see in my stare what I wanted to say next. It triggered him every time I said it, made him leave me, made him scared.
Maybe that was why he stalked out of the room before I got the chance to open my mouth again.
Because there was nothing worse than that.
I rolled over in my bed, all the shades drawn and my hair loosely braided, an oversized t-shirt wrapped around my body. My phone laid on my nightstand, its quietness screaming at me. The cut on my foot was healing, and I didn’t have any bruises on my neck anymore. But I felt worse, like all my external injuries had simply sunk below my skin, started harming the inside of me instead of the outside.
That internal type of injury hurt worse.
And I didn’t know how to heal those.
If time heals all wounds, why am I bleeding again? Why does this one keep reopening?
Is Mason tired of me? Is that why he won’t message me again? Why he won’t come fuck up my life again?
Am I too messed up for him now?
He only wants me messy when he’s daydreaming about fucking me.
I stumbled out of bed, pushing up on weak legs, the world instantly going dark. I dropped down on my carpet, staring at my hands until the blood came back to my head. After a minute, I could get to my feet without passing out.
Shuffling into the bathroom, I refused to look at myself in the mirror. I didn’t need reflective silver to confirm the dark circles under my eyes or the knots in my hair.
I pulled back the shower curtain and turned the knob, water sputtering into the tub until I pulled up the stopper. The pipes shook and rattled, then a stream began pouring out of theshower head, freezing cold with weak pressure. I took off my clothes and stood in the middle of the bathroom, arms crossed, goosebumps spreading over my skin, while I waited for the water to warm.
Cold air drifted over me, making my teeth chatter, but I didn’t move. My eyes were steadily focused on the bathmat, the matted fibers and the one loose thread hanging onto the linoleum.
Why did the deer run away, Dakota?
Because she’s prey.
And so am I.
The water was warm now, so I stepped into the shower, running my fingers through my hair to undo my braid, allowing the hot water to pour over my head and wash my body clean. I always showered after Anthony was done with me; I couldn’t live with the feeling of his hands lingering on my skin.
Water and soap and scrubbing and shame.
If I didn’t have work today, I would’ve stayed in my bed until night fell again—but I did, and I needed the money. Since I was working in the evening, I’d just decided to get up and go to my two daytime classes as well. It’d be good for me to go outside, to see people, even if I didn’t especially want to.
Fully drying my hair took too much effort, and my hair dryer was old, so I got it about halfway dry before putting it back into a braid down my spine—a cleaner, neater one this time. Then I finished getting ready and headed out of my trailer, locking the door behind myself as I stepped outside.
It was cloudy, like always, but maybe a bit warmer than usual.
I put my earbuds in my ears and started my walk to the bus stop, keeping my head down, watching the thick black soles of my boots on the pavement.
Emotions and memories ebbed and flowed in my brain like the tide, predictably climbing higher up the beach every time I got some reprieve. It was an endless loop, an everlasting force, the unbreakable pattern of my thoughts.
By the time I was sitting in my Unit Ops lecture, I was so tired I wanted to go home and crawl back into bed. The constant mental turmoil drained my body as it drained my mind.
An unpleasant ache spread across my lower back, sinking its hooks into my muscles, cramping across my abdomen. I bent forward, focused on breathing through the pain—I feared knew what it was. Cramps radiated from behind my hipbones, making me nauseous. A cold sweat prickled along my skin.
I held perfectly still, waiting for the wave to subside enough for me to move. It was difficult to do anything other than grip the edge of the desk and stare blankly as my uterus crushed itself. I usually got cramps before the blood started flowing, so I hoped I could hang on until the end of lecture.
A gush of wetness in my underwear made my eyes widen with panic.
Too late for that.
