“On the floor, or on the bed?” I’d asked.
His eyes had gone dark, then. He knew he couldn’t share the same room with me, let alone the same bed. He knew what he’d end up doing if he decided to stay, and how it’d affect our rapport and friendship.
With me asleep and on painkillers, it was okay. But when I wasn’t high on them, things could go very differently, especially with how much he cares and wants to be there for me.
“I’ll be back early, then,” he’d told me.
“You’ll be back at 8, like your new routine, and not a second before that,” I’d said firmly. “You’ll go home and get some much-needed sleep, Maverick Constance, or I swear to God I’ll rain all my damn rage on you. Do you fucking hear me?”
He’d pretended to appear pissed, but had eventually sighed and relented. He’d made me promise not to open my door for anyone, to which I’d had no issues in agreeing.
“I’ll text you as soon as I’m here,” he’d stated. “And if you’re up by then, just text me back so that I know you’re okay.”
“Okay.”
He’d given me his usual, assessing once-over, placed a kiss on my forehead, and then walked out of my room.
That was an hour ago, and I’ve spent every minute since then telling myself that I’ll get into the bath and try to relax my sore muscles a little. But I haven’t exactly done that yet. All Ihavedone is get further acquainted with the bruises on my body.
I grip the white marble countertop and bow my head. The ridiculous excuse of a bun that I’ve tied my hair into, flops to the side, making me laugh. A little at first, but then I’m full-on shaking with laughter. I can’t help it; I’m snickering senselessly.
The stretch of my mouth brings cutting pain to my entire face, but that doesn’t stop me.
I look at myself in the mirror again, and then laugh harder. “This is who you are,” I tell my reflection. “This is who you fuckingare, Cignette.”
Tears begin to run down my broken face as I bend forward when my hilarity grows in its intensity. I just…laugh, and laugh.
“This is who she made you to be…” I whisper, then snort in laughter. I try balancing myself as I straighten, but end up stumbling and falling backwards.
I’m on the floor now, cross-legged, and as the enormity of what I’m doing, of where I’m letting myself go, sets in, I place a hand over my mouth and start crying. I close my eyes, take in a loud breath, and continue to cry.
I cry, because it’s so hard to numb the pain, yet so easy to let it take over.
I cry, because I hate my mother for being the way she is. For doing to me what no mother should do to her child.
And I cry, because I know I’ve won, and yet, I know that I’ve also lost.
15.
Itighten my grip on the pillar’s topmost motif, then use my legs as a boost to haul myself upward. My palms burn at the impact, but the thrill that’s coursing through me right now takes precedence over any strain I feel in my body.
There’s something absolutelydeliciousabout infringing the systematic cycle of things, isn’t there? And I – I’m the kinda fucker who relishes being an oddity.
The weather is pretty brisk tonight, and I can kinda smell rain in the air. Not the most ideal condition, but eh, I’ve been here before, so I’m sure I’ll be fine.
I eye the balcony on my right – merely an inch from my reach – and balance myself in such a way that I can lean in and grab the marble railing. Once I’ve done that, I take a couple of steps in a sideways fashion, and then carefully move one leg, followed by the other, over the railing. My boots make a softthumpsound when they touch the floor, and I let go of the breath I was holding before glancing behind me with a smirk.
“Assholes,” I whisper when I see the nightshift guards – oblivious of my presence – chattering among themselves while stationed on the inside of the estate’s main gates.
Perhaps my deep-green vest and dark jeans gave me ample leverage for blending in, but still, those guys didn’t eventrylooking in my direction. I may or may not have pretended to be a bit lazy in the process, and even then, they didn’t give any number of shits about the suspicious rustling in the garden.
I guess all one needs these days is a shiny exterior to fool people into thinking they’re unbreakable, when, in fact, they’re hollow and worthless – just like their claims and résumés.
I roll my eyes when a few of the guards laugh at something they were talking about, then turn my back to them. I take a step forward and look up, but stop when I notice her. I don’t know how I missed it before – probably because I was focused on not falling on my ass whilst proving to myself that I can one-up the guards yet again – but I didn’t see her until now.
Cignette’s room is bathed in darkness; there’s not a single light turned on. The silence in here is so heavy, it’s almost like I canfeelit brushing over my ears.
She’s sitting on the side of her bed – the one that’s facing the balcony – with her bare feet touching the carpet. She’s wearing a pink-and-white letterman hoodie, and every other second, drops of water drip down her damp hair and fall soundlessly on her exposed thighs. Her head is bowed, so she hasn’t seen me yet, but something about her posture heightens my attention.
