Why can’t it all just go away?
Tears threaten to spill over my lashes, but I aggressively bat them away. I’ve cried so much every day that I can’t have anything left.
I don’t want to be like this.
I’ve lost a part of myself, and the grief has its claws dug tightly into me. No matter what I do, it feels like it won’t ever let go.
The worst of it is, they took from Regina, too.
Conrad and George had an ultimatum that night. I can’t think long enough to work everything out.
Had they been watching us with Jenna?
Were they planning on doing it to all three of us?
The questions are endless, but the conclusion is void.
Jenna got locked in the bathroom, and when she managed to break out, she was dragged outside by one of Conrad’s friends, stating she was too drunk—whilst the drugs were fully invading our system.
When they wouldn’t let her back in, it caused a commotion; she knew something was wrong.
She called Saint, who was already on his way with Rex, the two of them managing to get inside whilst Saint tore down the place to find out where we were, him and Rex taking down anyone that stood in their way.
The cruellest thing about it all? If they’d have drugged us properly, we wouldn’t have been partially conscious to fully know what happened to us.
I tried hard to fight back, but I couldn’t.
Sometimes I wish I did black out, because now I’m left with mental scars that never seem to want to heal.
The scabs fall off as soon as they form, and the torture rewinds from the beginning again.
This can’t control me, define who I am.
But every time I try to talk myself round, reality comes crashing down, and I either vomit to the point my throat is raw, or I spend hours in the shower, scrubbing my skin raw.
Sleep is a thing of the past, so I grab my phone from the bedside table, seeing it’s 5am. I’ve seen every hour of the clock for weeks.
I open my messages, Saint checking in with me at all hours; he isn’t sleeping either.
He’s sent me links to all different kinds of facts about the planets and stars; he’s trying to distract me. Old me would have been ecstatic he took such an interest, but all I feel is a void.
Not worthy of anything joyful.
I even spent my twenty-second birthday alone, didn’t want anyone around me. Life feels like it’s slipping from my grip, happiness is being snatched away from me, but I don’t know how to get it back, if it’s even possible.
He sends me little things to take my mind off it when he’s not with me, which I’ve only allowed twice. It’s not that I don’t want to be around him. I don’t want to be around anyone. I don’t deserve the soft side of him he’s pouring over me.
His texts mostly go unanswered, only in those rare moments when my social battery refills just enough to allow me to reply.
I know he doesn’t really want me anymore. How could he?
I’ve been tarnished by another.
He says he does, and to stop blaming myself, that he’ll fix it. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be mended again. I’ve lost a part of myself entirely.
He knows it, too, I can see it in his eyes. It’s in my mom’s, too.
Pity.
