My Achilles aches when I push off the mattress and stand on shaky legs. Pressing the palm of my hand to my forehead, I close my eyes as the entire room starts to wave and spin fromthe pain throbbing at my temples. Sucking back a sharp inhale, I wait until my heart rate finds a calmer rhythm and I no longer feel like I’m suffocating. Peeling my eyelids open, I reach out and snatch up the cheap cotton sweater and sweatpants my nurse, Jackson, had placed at the base of my bed last night. I drag them in front of me and curl my hands around to my back, untying the thin cord on my hospital gown and scrunching my eyes closed when it falls to the ground, splaying out at my torn ankles.
I can’t keep seeing the mess they left me in, feeling it is enough.I keep them firmly shut when I slide the pants up my legs and pull the sweater over my head.
Gravity is weighing down on me, and my knees are weak when I pace the short distance toward the small window to my right, feeling the burn at my ankles even though I’m doped up on morphine.
It was bad.
Really fucking bad.
You would think there would be no more skin to pull, no more flesh to ravage, however,there is.Even after discarding me, they still had a hold on me.
I watch the hues of sharp orange splash across the indigo canvas of the early evening sky, exhaling slowly when a hand connects with my upper back. It feels like a feather, though my trauma has me spinning around with urgency. My awareness is entirely heightened when I see that both nurses assigned to take care of me have entered the room. I didn’t hear them. It was like I had drifted off, not really here, a vacant broken shell. Erin, the slim brunette, is bent over the mattress, inspecting the IV I had pulled out myself with the subtle look of disappointment on her pretty pixie face, while Jackson, the tall and lanky male nurse, stands in front of me.
“Blaine, are you–”
I’m not going back to that bed, even if it means I have to fight my way out of here.
I don’t let him finish. “I’m leaving,” I rasp, my throat like sandpaper, voice sounding like I’ve swallowed a handful of dirt. Erin flicks her gaze toward me instantly, her green eyes bugging out of her head when she moves around the bed and ambles in my direction.
She runs her hands over her teal scrubs, then back through her brown hair, curling a greasy strand that has fallen out of her loose braid behind her ear.
“Look, Blaine, I’m not willing to discharge you yet. You need a little more rest,” she states, her voice sincere, though her brows knit with concern.
A small laugh rolls off my tongue. It’s what pissed off sounds like, and I bite into the side of my cheek to cut it off. “Sign the papers, please. I’m leaving.”
I start to move toward the door, when I feel a hand latch around my bicep. It’s like a knife rachets its rusted blade along the edge of my spine, making sure to recoil when it reaches the end, drifting back up and digging around each vertebra.
Absolutely fucking not.
I become terrifyingly lucid when I spin around, and before I can find any type of pause, my fist curls, the way it did yesterday when I punched Rusty in the jaw, and instinctively flies right into Jackson’s nose.
Fuck.
My trauma is going to take me out.
The crunch sounds loudly, and the gasp from Erin is startling as she watches on, her eyes a picture of shock. And I should feel bad, but that’s not possible. I’m empty, numb, when he stumbles backward slightly, the linoleum flooring squeaking beneath his rubber-soled shoes.
Jackson’s dark hair falls around his face, and the look in his brown eyes shines with nothing but confusion. I bet he’s never been punched in the face before. He looks like the kind of guy who probably skipped out on parties to study, his grades more important than youthful experiences and bad mistakes. He’s a bit of a nerd.
And yet, I did that to him. I took something from him.
I’m just as disgusting asthem.
Shaking my hand out at my side, I feel like I’ve splintered every goddamn bone. The ache is fiery as it pulses its way up the length of my forearm.
“Didn’t they teach you in training not to stop a girl who has been held captive, tortured, and raped over and over and over again...” My words are spoken through a void of emptiness, though I’m screaming them.
I blink, feeling nothing, even as I watch the young nurse cradle his nose in bewilderment.
I did that, and I feel fucking nothing.
I’m a walking monster, a vile creation made from the remnants my trauma has left behind.
I move through a cloudy haze of panic as I stride toward the door, with raised voices spiraling around me. Security bursts into the room, two large men, triple the size of me, standing in the doorway, blocking my escape route.
Try me, motherfuckers.
I pierce my dead eyes through both of theirs. “Touch me and I’ll–”
