I turn the shower on as hot as I can stand. I strip off everything and leave it in a pile on the floor. When I step under the water, I hiss in pain, but I don’t retreat. It heats my flesh, leaving it red and sensitive. I need it. I need to strip the smell of him, the feel of him in my space, from my skin. From my mind.
I can feel myself falling deeper and deeper into the void of darkness within my mind, and I don’t know if I can drag myself back out this time. I’m terrified. I have no control over what’s happening to me. Yet again.
I thought these feelings had been leaving me lately. But they’ve just been hiding in dark corners. Waiting for the opportunity toattack, to finally consume me whole. I don’t know how long I stand there, the empty feeling inside me growing until the water turns to ice, and still, I stand there. By the time I shut the water off, I feel raw inside and out. No amount of hot water will burn away this feeling. I feel dirty, slimy.
Disgusting.
I don’t bother with a towel, just walk into my room, leaving a trail of water and tears in my wake. I look around the space, seeing Noah everywhere. His hoodie on my chair, his charger by the desk.
When I see his copy ofThe Wayfarer’s Staron the nightstand, a violent and ugly sob cracks from my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut. What am I doing? Dragging someone like him into my darkness and despair.
I’m broken.Pathetic.
If the reason for everything Kyle did can’t fix me, nothing can. I’ll destroy Noah, I’ll take the sunshine from him and darken it, twist it into perpetual night.
He deserves more than I can give him.
I pull on sleep clothes and drag myself into bed. It’s still morning, but I can’t find the energy to move. Noah’s scent fills the air, the smell of him on my sheets, and it only makes me sob harder.
I lie there watching the sun rise high in the sky through the window, wishing Noah were here, and at the same time, wishing Noah would never see me like this.
I was fooling myself, thinking I could keep him, thinking I could be enough for him. All the greedy parts of me wanted that happiness he brought to my life, but I’ll never deserve it.
I can never make him as happy as he makes me; he deserves better than to take on the burden that I am.
My eyes are still staring blankly out the window when the front door opens. When I focus on the sky, I realize it’s dark.
“Hey, baby,” he calls from the hall. Upbeat and light. My stomach lurches.
I hear him set his bag down and walk toward the bedroom. I can feel his eyes on me even though my back is turned to him. “You alright?” There's so much care and concern in his voice, and I could crumble from that alone.
Almost. The words almost come out of me. I want to tell him everything that happened, tell him how bleak and empty I feel. But I can’t find my voice. Another part of me lost to the darkness.
My pillowcase is damp with my tears, and my eyelids feel swollen. He circles the bed and looks at me, eyes searching. I keep my gaze on his legs, but my skin tightens under his watch. He kneels in front of me, bringing himself into my eyeline, but I slam my eyes shut. I can’t look at him; he’ll see everything. And he’ll try to fix it, but he can’t.
Not everything broken can be fixed.
He stands, and I hear him strip his clothes off. He walks around the other side of the bed and climbs in.
I lie stiff, every muscle held tight because if I let go, I might break apart. Noah shifts closer. His arm slips around my waist, pulling me against him. I let him. My body burns with the lie of it. He’s holding something that’s damaged beyond repair, and he doesn’t even know it. My throat aches again with the urge to tell him everything, but the words stay locked. I hide behind stillness, hoping he can’t feel the mess inside me.
“I’m here.” The words are so quiet they barely disturb the hairs at the back of my head, but they’re so heartbreakingly earnest.
“I don’t understand.” The words are torn from somewhere I can’t cage.
His nose brushes against my hair as his fingers trace my stomach. “Understand what?”
“I tried so hard to be enough,” I whisper, my heart beating erratically. “But I never was. I was always wrong.”
Maybe if I’d been less difficult.
Maybe if I hadn’t annoyed him.
Maybe if I’d been brighter, easier, quieter.
I can’t get enough air into my lungs.
“Why?” The question rips free, it won’t leave me, no matter how hard I try will it away. “Why would anyone want to hurt me like that? What did I do to deserve it?”
