There’s so much pain when I wake up, I feel sick. Literally sick to my stomach as I roll onto the wrong side, my left side, and a screaming pain shoots down my back and then travels up the front of me.
Seething through my clenched teeth, my eyes open wide as I bolt awake in the late morning and I struggle not to vomit.
I wish I could say I was drunk when I lost my shit last night. That’s exactly what I did. I have lost all composure when it comes to this man.
It takes me a long time, longer than it should, to realize I’m alone in the bedroom. I expected to see him on the chair watching me, or in bed. I’m not sure why I expected it. I shouldn’t have. He’s never here in the morning. But we’ve never been like this before. So broken and each of us hurting the other.
We aren’t throwing stones; we’re tipping boulders over a steep cliff while the other lies helplessly in the dirt below.
I chose him. I wanted to be with him, and he’s choosing to make me feel so fucking alone. The thin top sheet gathers in my hands as fists form and I struggle to hold back the pain from everything.
Waking up alone hurts more than it ever has before. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I don’t want to be hurting. I don’t want to be the cause of Carter’s pain either. And I think that’s all I’ll ever be. After last night, I don’t know how I could ever be anything but a painful reminder to him.
Cradling my sore shoulder, I sit up on the bed and let my legs hang off the side as I test out my arm. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s my own damn fault. The deep gouges in my wrist are worse though.
The floor’s cold under my bare feet as I make my way to the bathroom in search of more painkillers and something I can use to clean the cuts. I don’t find either, but I get ready, thinking about the bathroom located off the foyer. I bet there’s some in there.
All the while I brush my teeth, I stare at myself in the mirror. As I brush my hair, my reflection does the same, watching the woman I am. There’s not an ounce of happiness. There’s nothing but darkness.
I read in some article a while back, that pets start to look like their owners because they learn to mimic their facial expressions. It’s the same with adopted children resembling parents who aren’t biological. The more time spent with someone, the more you inherit their features.
And as I stare at myself, all I see is the darkness that is Carter. The brewing pain deep inside. It inhabits me in a way I hadn’t seen before.
The room is silent as I turn off the water and carefully set my brush on the granite counter.
None of this belongs to me. None of it is mine.
Every piece was a gift, comfort items meant to placate me. With a step back, it’s hard to swallow. With a peek up in the mirror, it’s hard to withstand the sight.
It’s never been more clear to me that I need to leave than in this moment. Carter Cross is a drug I’ll never kick. A drug that’s seeped into my veins and wrapped its way around every small piece of me.
I’m addicted to what he does to me and he’ll just continue to hurt me. He knows how much he hurts me, as do I, and yet here I am.
When I turn my back, it feels like someone else is there, someone behind me. The girl in the mirror maybe. She’s watching me and it sends pricks down my neck as I slowly leave the bathroom, too cold and disturbed to dare shut the door.
Even as I dress, slowly and with a searing burn every time I have to move my left shoulder, I stare at the bathroom as if somewhere deep inside, a part of me is waiting for a person to leave it.
I can’t shake this feeling. Not until I leave the bedroom. At least for a moment.
It feels too empty as I walk alone to the foyer bathroom. I’m hollow inside with the wretched truth so clear in my mind.
Leaving someone who hurts you shouldn’t feel like this. Like you’re losing a part of your soul. As if inside, there’s a fissure that’s expanding, and as it does, it’s damaging whatever it is that makes a person alive. Whatever makes me feel is being scarred with every step I take.
Because the closer I get to the front door, the more I want to leave and never look back.
I could never, even for a second, look behind. I can already imagine his face and the way he’d look at me if I left him.
I can feel his pain.
As I round the corner, I’m careful to contain my emotions so I don’t break down again.
With a quick intake of air, I stiffen the moment I look ahead of me, straight at the open bathroom door.
Even my heart stills, not wanting me to be heard or seen.
Addison doesn’t see me as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. She’s in her head, I know she is. I can practically see the wheels spinning as she walks down the right hall, past the bathroom.
It’s only when she’s out of sight that I even dare breathe.
I still don’t move though. My limbs don’t allow it.
How did I let my life come to this? Where I’m afraid to see the only friend I’m able to interact with because … because why? Because I’m ashamed, and scared, and miserable with who I am and the choices I’ve made, and I can’t tell her any of that… because she’s on the side of the enemy.
That fissure deep inside of me, the one destroying everything in its path, rips me wide fucking open as I walk as quietly as I can to the small half bath and close the door.
The click sounds like the loudest thing I’ve ever heard as I sit down on the toilet and cover my face with my hands.
I feel hot and immediately I have the urge again to vomit as I reach up and my shoulder sends a bolt of pain down my back. Fuck!
I bite down on the inside of my cheek so hard, I can taste the metallic tang of blood. It was worth it not to scream though. Still, I want to scream so badly. I want to get all of this out of me.
I’m stronger than this, but it feels like there’s something inside of me that’s falling apart in a way where I know it will never be whole again.
There’s a line in one of my favorite stories from Alice in Wonderland, that goes something to the effect of, there’s no use to going back to yesterday, you’re a different person than you were then.
I hate that line now. I used to love it. I could have lived by that sentiment, feeling purposeful and fulfilled. Right now? The very idea of that quote forces me to jump off the toilet seat so I can hurl what little I have inside of me into the bowl.
It’s fucking disgusting. The taste, the smell, the burning feeling. And when I’m done, while I’m washing my mouth out with the running water, I don’t feel any better at all.
Deep breaths get me through cleaning it all up. It’s when I’m searching under the sink for a new hand towel to replace the one I used to wipe my mouth that I see the box of pregnancy tests.
Addison.
“Oh my god.” The words leave me in a whisper and for the first time this morning I smile. It’s only a hint of one, but now I have a light that’s growing, if dim. She’s pregnant. I fall down on my ass and lean against the wall as I hold the box of pregnancy tests and wonder what she’s feeling and thinking. She’s going to have a baby. And what a wonderful mother she’ll be. I know she will.
The light inside of me is quick to fade though as I realize she didn’t tell me. But maybe there’s nothing to tell. The thick wrapper on the test I pull out crinkles in my hand and I think back to my last period… before all of this started.
The days have faded and with the shot Carter gave me, I never considered any other reason for not getting my period.
I’m constantly tired, irritated and emotional, and now sick. Sick to my stomach. But sick and tired would also describe anyone in my situation. Still, a heated wave of anxiousness rolls through me until I move to take the test.
Tick.
Tick.
Time passes and my thoughts run wild.
Tick.
Tick.
Time passes as the turmoil and sickness subside, leaving a dust to settle and a clear picture to form.
Tick.
Tick.
I don’t know how long I sit there holding the box.
Or how long I wonder if it’s worthless. If all of this is worthless.
I don’t need a friend. I don’t need someone to love me either.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
