As we stop in front of my house, I don’t wait for them as I throw the back door open and walk numbly up to my front door.
“Rosalie,” Roman calls, but his voice is muffled and distant to my ears as I fight to type in the security code.
I blink past the building pressure in the bridge of my nose as my fingers shake. I can’t even remember the code.
Another hand covers mine gently, and I snatch it away as if the contact burned me. My gut roils and churns as Maddox stares down at me with concern, and I avoid his eyes. He types in the code, and I mumble a barely audible ‘thank you’ before pushing past the threshold and walking up the stairs to my room.
If they shout after me, I have no idea because I feel likeI’m losing grip on reality. Everything is becoming too much—the walls surrounding me and the therapy session is still playing over again and again in my head. It’s a vicious cycle I can never escape, and I need…something.
Without thinking, I close myself in the bathroom. The shaky breath skates past my lips, sounding loud and ragged as I attempt to turn on the water of my shower. My hands can’t stop trembling, and I don’t even shed my clothes before stepping under the ice-cold stream.
It shocks my system, causing me to suck in a long, steady breath as goosebumps prick my arms and I shiver. I lift my hands to my face, smoothing my hair back as my tears fall unbidden. Everything crashes down around me, and I feel like that helpless girl who tried so hard to fight free of her past.
I’m vulnerable and scared.
My own father is trying to ruin my life, and the three people I despise the most are waiting downstairs like vultures circling a corpse. Things couldn’t be any worse, and the thought causes me to hiccup as my face twists. My clothes become heavy with the water as I sob quietly.
I give myself a minute to let it all out—the frustration and the anger. It sloshes off of me with the rivulets of water, and I imagine all of my worries washing right down the drain. I undress, my hands working my clothes off of me before they slap onto the shower floor.
I grab my shampoo and conditioner, and I scrub. I massage my scalp until it hurts and wash my body until it feels raw and my skin is tight. No amount of soap can wash away the scars or healed bruises that still rest just under my skin like a constant reminder. No amount of cold water can shock away the visceral pain I get anytime I think about what I went through.
I’m stuck picking myself back up in the end, struggling to piece together worn and tattered puzzle pieces that no longer fit perfectly. They’re chipped with tiny bits long lost along the way, and I don’t know how to fix it.
Therapy and the medications are one thing, but it’s only a balm for the hurt inside of me. It’s like taking Tylenol, only getting rid of the symptoms, but it’s all still there.
When my tears dry and I’m all out of waterworks, I cut the shower before drying myself off. Even the plush towel wrapped around me isn’t enough to pull me out of my funk as I walk into my room.
I grab my medication, popping two pills into my mouth before grabbing a water from my mini fridge and guzzling it until I nearly give myself a brain freeze. I plop down onto the edge of my bed, my shoulders curling forward with exhaustion as I pull a glucose pen from my nightstand. I check my levels with my monitor before sucking in a breath and injecting the pen into my thigh. I rub the area after I’m done, letting the medicine work its way through my system.
“Snap out of it, Rose.” I swipe a hand across my eyes, feeling weak and exposed. “It’s just therapy. You need it. You have to do it.”
There’s no other choice for me. Not after the incident…
They can never find out about what happened to me right after I left Mystic. I would rather die than see the satisfaction in them that they almost drove me to my end.
I think about calling it a night and just rotting away in my bed while watching a show I need to catch up on until the smell of something burning touches my nose and I shoot up. One of the smoke detectors goes off downstairs, and I throw my robe on before flying out of my bedroom. My heels smack against the staircase quickly as my panic rises.
Is it Dad?
Did he set my house on fire?
Am I in danger?
I follow the sharp, acrid scent, coughing as it leads me to my kitchen. I wave a hand in front of my face, fanning the smoke as I walk into something I’m not expecting.
Roman slaps Kairo over the back of his head. “I told you, you were going to fucking burn it!” He yanks the pan awayfrom the blonde before thrusting it under a stream of water.
“The heat was too high,” Maddox says as he stirs something over the stove and uses a dish towel to clear the smoke.
“How was I supposed to know that?” Kairo snaps as he grabs a chair from the dining room and steps up onto it. He clicks a button on the smoke detector, silencing it. “I’ve never made butter chicken before.”
Roman’s head swivels to him. “Let me handle the chicken. You’ve fucked it up enough.”
Kairo throws his hands out. “Fine! I’ll make the fucking bread.”
“It’s called naan.” Maddox corrects.
I blink at the scene. As if just noticing my presence, they all turn to me.
