He smashes the door open again, and this time, I do giggle. “What?” He shouts. “Are you okay?”
My eyes dart to the sink, the toilet, the single stall. I bob my head even though he can’t see me. “Don’t leave,” I murmur, swallowing another ball of emotions. “Please.”
He holds the door open with the toe of his shiny shoe and rubs the back of his head, his other hand still covering his eyes. “Look, Ella, you seem to have the whole damsel in distress thing goingfor you, but I don’tdovomit.” He gags and clears his throat. “I can’t be the guy to hold your hair back for you.”
An unexpected laugh bubbles up, and I rub my chest in surprise.
“Was that the prequel to your Linda Blair moment?” he grunts. I laugh again, and this time, it comes out as a sob. “Aww, shit.”
“No,” I quickly say when he moves to step toward me. “It’s okay. I just meant…” I pause, trying to get my emotions under control. “I just meant, can you stay outside until I’m done? I don’t know where I’m going.”
I swear, the sigh he releases is so long and so loud it’s like he’s audibly deflating. “Yeah, of course. No problem.” His thumb hikes over his shoulder as he steps back. “I’ll just, uh, wait out here. Take your time. No rush.” He takes another step back. “You do your thing, and I’ll catch ya’ on the flip—” The door slams shut, cutting off his words, and just like that, I crumble to the floor.
Chapter 17
Idon’t know howlong I lay on the ground, but when I finally get up, my face is red, my head is throbbing, and I’ve vomited all the contents of my stomach. I wish I could say my heart is lighter as if I’ve cried out all my demons, but it’s not.
I don’t think it ever will be.
In fact, I’m pretty sure the more time passes, the deeper the pain will grow, the more shattered I’ll become.
I bend over, rinsing my face in the sink. I cup water and fill my mouth, swishing a few times before spitting it in the sink. When I finally feel semi-human and clean, I dare to look up, meeting my broken reflection in the mirror.
As my tears continue to mingle with the water droplets on my face, I find myself locked in a heart-wrenching confrontation with myself. The woman reflected back at me, seeming like a stranger.
My fingers reach up, and I trace the pink scar dissecting my brow that goes up to my scalp. It’s barely visible now, but I know it’s there.
For the longest time, the first thing I spotted when I looked at my reflection were my scars. I saw the evidence of my past, the horrible accident I was involved in, the events that followed.
Then, I met the guys. I got healthy, I got better, I gothappy. I stopped seeing my scars and started seeingme, the woman I was finally becoming.
Now, all I see is a shell.
My once-meticulously styled and curled hair is a chaotic nest of dirt, debris, and the blood of my best friend. The strands clump together, heavy and matted, clinging to my scalp like a weight I can’t shake off. There’s a profound disarray to it, a stark contrast to the carefully constructed image my guys had fawned over just hours ago.
Fuck, how long’s it been?
My makeup, painstakingly applied before all hell broke loose, now appears as a smeared mask on my face. Mascara tracks streak down my cheeks like dark rivers carved by the relentless flow of tears. The red lipstick, once a bold statement of confidence, has become a haunting reminder of the chaos that unfolded, leaving stains on my jaw that won’t disappear.
But it’s the blood that haunts me the most, the crimson stains that mark my hair, my throat, my trembling hands. It’s as if the very essence of death clings to me. His death.
Hunter’s death.
You fall, I fall.
I love you.
It was always you.
Please forgive me.
With a choked sob, I pump soap into my hands, scrubbing my skin with a frantic desperation. The harsh, stinging sensation is a painful reminder, a futile attempt to cleanse not only my body but also my soul from the horrors that have unfolded. My skin turns raw and red, protesting against the relentless assault.
In my grief-stricken frenzy, I’m barely aware of the door creaking open. I pay no attention to the intruder, my world spiraling into a whirlpool of despair.
Get it off.
Off.
