I just barely made it to the toilet, the lid clanging as I thrust it out of the way before the tiny bit of dinner made a reappearance.
Bile and spit coated my lips as I painted, gagging in between the shallow breaths.
I didn’t want to remember. The past was meant to always stay there, no matter how long it had been. Six years should be more than enough time to wash it all away. To wash all the pain and anguish away, like it never had happened.
Too many hands had touched me. Too many words were spoken. Too many marks that would forever mark my body as belonging to someone else.
I spat into the toilet after another round of gagging.
“Stop it,” I huffed, laying my cheek against the cold porcelain. “Just stop.”
No one answered. But why would my own thoughts answer me anyway?
The monsters in the past would always follow me. They would always be there, lurking in the dark and plotting their next attack.
I should have died. Allister should have just finished the job instead of doing the right thing. Then, I wouldn’t be here and have to wake up like this.
Every freaking time.
Not just on the worst day of my life, but every panic attack that came with the nightmares.
My birthday was more than just the day I was born. It was the day I was to die. It was the day I was saved. It was the day I found a will to live.
And now, it would forever torment me day in and day out.
I wasn’t as strong as I tried to make those around me believe. I wasn’t anything but...well whatever the hell I was.
A sob broke forth, and never before had I wished to have arms wrapped around me. A voice to whisper in my ear that it would all be okay. That I could just freaking be.
None of that would ever happen. No one would be here beside me to comfort me. No one would understand my past. No one would know what I needed without me having to say it.
When I was no longer sobbing, or gagging and my stomach was settled, I pushed myself up off the floor. I flushed, then washed my hands and cleaned my face.
Catching my reflection in the mirror, I looked like how I felt. My eyes were bloodshot and red. My blond hair was a mess, and I was so freaking tired.
I looked defeated.
Forcing my feet to get me to the kitchen so I could at least get a bottle of water, I took a small sip before curling back up on the couch. Checking the time on my phone, I saw it had only been two hours since I fell asleep.
There was also a picture from Noah. It was of him with his stuffed animal squished to his chin, his eyes full of happiness. Then the words that came in under it said he missed me.
Miss ya too. I sent it back, hoping he wouldn’t see it until late in the morning. But I did miss him.
Tears gathered again, this time for a whole different reason than the panic attack.
I wanted Noah. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and hold him and tell him that I loved him. Explain to him that he had to fall for Beckett and get his happy ending. Because I wasn’t going to have one.
I trailed a finger down his face in the picture, wishing he were here with me instead.
I did love him. More than I tried to play off. Have for years. He was my everything.
But I had to let him go. He needed to fly so I didn’t break him.
Because I would break him in the end.
“I’m sorry for what I’ll have to do, sweetheart,” I whispered.
There were no options left.
