I shove my hand through the junk in the nightstand until I find the pills. My fingers shake as I dump two into my palm and swallow them dry.
Everything hurts. And not the usual hurt. Not sore muscles or a busted knuckle. This is full-body agony. Bone-deep. Like something inside me cracked open and hasn’t figured out how to close.
But the pain’s easier than the memories.
So I’ll take it.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Get up.
I shove off the bed, limp to the bathroom, and turn the shower on. Waiting for the water to go from freezing to scalding.
I strip off my shirt, and pause when it hits the floor. Black? I blink. I was wearing white. I’m sure of it…I think?
I step under the water and scrub my hair. My thighs scream in protest. My ribs flare. I keep going anyway. When I’m done, I wrap a towel around me and freeze.
My eyes land on the mirror. And for once, I look.
I shouldn’t have.
A massive bruise wraps around my jaw, purple-red and swollen. My lip’s split, crusted with blood. The side of my nose is puffy, the color creeping up to my temple. My eyes are glassy. Hollow.
There’s a buzzing itch down my spine. I twist, and the mirror shows the stitches on my back. The shadows under my ribs.
I grip the sink until my knuckles go white.
You’re fine. You’re breathing. You’re alive.
“Arsen,” I call, cracking the door open.
His heavy footsteps echo down the hallway.
“I just need—” The words catch in my throat the second I look up.
Not Arsen.
Priest.
“Need what?” he asks.
I freeze.
My stomach twists so hard I nearly double over. He fills the doorway like a nightmare. His shirt’s stretched across his bruised chest. Gashes on his nose.
But it’s not enough.
I should’ve fucking shot him. Should’ve carved his name into his own skin. A kick to the jaw wasn’t enough. Nothing willeverbe enough.
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The air rips out of me…I want to scream. I want to claw his face off.
“Arsen’s on a supply run,” he says, stepping forward. “What do you need?”
My entire body flinches.
Hard.
