21. CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I trip over my own feet—my knees crashing into the bathroom tiles.
I’m not even sure if the door to my room closed behind me, because as soon as Jesse was out of sight, my torso started convulsing.
I can’t breathe.
Every time I try, the oxygen is forced back out of me.
I’m going to explode.
At the toilet, I grip the bowl and wretch—all of my muscles trying to force the panic out through my mouth.
But nothing comes.
Again it happens. My body strains so hard that my eyes water. But still… nothing.
There’s nothing in my stomach to bring up. Just like there’s nothing in my life to offer Jesse.
He deserves more. More than this. More than taking care of some gutter trash.
I shouldn’t be so shocked at what he heard.
I had the dream. I woke up with the bruises.
But my room? The bed?
Nothing explains that.
It was too easy to convince myself I’d punched my ribs and legs while lying down because that way I didn’t have to think about it anymore. If I’d stayed in bed, then maybe I’d stayed quiet too…
My arms wrap around my middle, and I fall to the bathroom floor.
The cold of the tiles only amplifies how hot the rest of me is.
How useless I am.
How exposed.
Anyone could barge in and do whatever they like… Again… And what could I do? Nothing. Just like back then. Just like when Josh’s fist sent me to the ground.
Just like when they broke me.
When they killed me.
I should have died.
I should have died so many times, but someone, somewhere, is having a great big laugh at my expense. Like God did with Job, some sick fucker is seeing how much shit I can take before I chose to end it myself.