PROLOGUE
The people who claim love is enough—they’re flat out lying.
If it was, I wouldn’t be alone.
If it was, we’d blossom. We’d be an abundant garden.
But it’s love that’s crushing me.
Trampling my heart. Withering my spirit.
Tiny pin pricks all over my body. That’s what the water feels like. I need to turn down the temperature, but I can’t drum up the strength to move. I let the scalding water scorch my skin. The sting feels good. Distracts me.
The floral aroma of the soap I used mingles with the rising steam. The steam’s so thick, I wonder if it’s possible to drown in it.
He knocks on the door. His voice is barely audible over the pounding of the water against my body. “Hey, you okay in there?”
I swallow the bitterness in my tone. “I’m fine.”
“Can I come in?”
I don’t answer. Because I don’tcare.
I’ve already cleaned up all the blood. Weeping in agony, I did it myself.
That’s the part he should’ve been here for.
The door cracks open.
He says, “I have to head out. Are you going to be okay?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need anything?”
I need you.
“No.”
“Alright. I’m going to go then. Call me later, okay?”
The door clicks shut.
I don’t know how long it takes for me to drag myself out, but when I finally do, the water is cold. It cooled my blistered skin, dissipating the steam. I wrap a robe around my tender shoulders and slowly make my way to bed.
He left a vase of flowers on the nightstand.
Fresh tears fill my eyes. The mix of cut carnations and daisies and greenery are an outrageous substitute.
I reach the window sill and pull. Freezing night air rushes into the room, nipping against the nakedness under my robe and chilling the wet roots of my hair.
I push out a corner of the window screen and tug until it tumbles two stories and lands on the concrete driveway. I grab the bouquet. Squish the blooms down to make them fit through the opening. Then I let go.
Glass shatters, penetrating the quiet of night.
Looking down, I think the shards and scattered flowers look familiar.
ONE
