Chapter 30
He’s been here. My husband has been here.
When I left Dean in the car park I raced straight home to my apartment.
I needed the space to breathe. Dean has a habit of stealing every ounce of oxygen from my lungs without his own knowledge.
Leaving me choked and breathless. I could have easily sunk into his embrace and poured my heart out to him but I’m too ashamed, I’m embarrassed at the fact that I stuck around for so long that I allowed a man to viciously put his hands on me.
I thought I was strong and independent but Ricky burst through my defences like a bulldozer and left me a broken mess, and now I’m struggling to pick up the sharp pieces of myself, the pieces that Dean so willingly would carry for me, even if it sliced him open in the process.
I felt truly safe in his arms, like nothing could ever touch me again.
A fierce protector, that’s what Dean is but I can’t stop the hurt that twists around my heart like barbed wire at the memory of his face as I told him to back away from me.
His forest green eyes turned dull and empty at my words, like I’d stolen the very essence out of him and maybe I did in that moment but I didn’t stick around to find out.
Instead I ran away and came home to find the door of my apartment wide open, the lock completely busted.
Fear gripped me around the throat as I took small, steady steps into the apartment, pulling the switch-blade out of my back pocket.
Hoping and praying that I wouldn’t be forced to use it.
I held the knife in a death grip in front of me, the sharp blade ready to attack and began to walk further into the dark living room.
My hand fumbled across the wall until I located the light switch, flicking it on to find utter chaos.
The once cosy black sofa was now ripped to shreds, the fabric torn and shredded, the fluff from the cushions looked like a cloud had exploded in the room.
The glass on the TV had cracked into a spider web shape across the screen, a hole right in the centre like someone had taken a baseball bat to the screen.
Heavy tears began to well in my eyes, the only things I owned had been destroyed.
I felt my chest heaving and straining as I delved further into the apartment towards my bedroom, still gripping the knife in my hand.
I pushed the door open slowly and held my breath as I stepped into the small room and flicked the light on.
No, no, no. Please.
A sob broke free from my lips as I took in the utter destruction.
My bed had been burnt right in the middle, a huge black mass spread across the sheets, the soft cotton melted, until the springs of the mattress were exposed.
Frantically, I scanned the room for my holdall and ran towards it on the floor, dropping the knife I fell to my knees, a sharp pain fired up my bones and I screamed.
I screamed until there was nothing left inside of me, until my lungs were crying out for oxygen.
The entire bag had been ransacked. All my clothes cut into pieces, the money and burner phone, gone.
This, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t.
My fingers gripped into the carpet as unrestrained fury ran through my bloodstream like lava.
I lifted my eyes away from the bag and spotted the switch-blade on the ground where I’d dropped it.
Quickly picking it up, I wrap my hand around the handle, gripping it tightly until my knuckles turn white.
I’d never felt anger quite like this, the kind of anger that has you screaming and crying and clawing out of your own skin.
In a quick decision I bring the sharp blade to my jugular and press it into my skin.
My hands trembling. I could end everything now, one swift slice and I’d bleed out right on this carpet, the fibres would soak up everything inside of me.
I’d feel nothing but peace. Silence. All my troubles would float away like leaves in the breeze.
My old friend, the darkness comes swooping in like a dragon, ready to claim me and maybe I was ready to be claimed. There was nothing left for me here, everything I had was gone, taken from me again. Maybe I’m making a mistake but I can’t take it anymore.
Pulling the knife away from my throat, I gently lie back onto the carpet, my arms spread out to the side of me, closing my eyes for just a moment, listening to the silence, embracing it, basking in it.
This is what it would be like all the time, just silence.
You see, I’m not scared of death. I always knew it would come for me eventually.
A silent killer that I would never outrun, but I never expected it to be so soon.
I’m not sure if I’m fully ready but maybe I should give death exactly what it wants. Me.
Slowly my arm rises from the carpet, almost like I’m under a spell, the sharp knife glinting in the glow of the light, bringing it to my opposite arm, I push the sleeve up with the blade until my bare skin is on show.
The wounds lacing my skin are all in various stages of healing.
Some are stark white against my skin, others still open and fresh, the blood clotting around the opening.
Without even thinking about it, like it’s become second nature to me I bring the blade to my skin and slice downwards, the thin skin breaking open under the pressure.
I go deeper this time, determined to finish the job, the thick blood pours profusely from the open wound, covering my forearm in a sticky layer.
The knife slips from my fingers and falls heavily to the ground as I feel my heart pump the blood around my body until it forces it out of my arm.
I don’t make any attempt to stop it, I just let it be.
I accept it and hopefully death will accept me in return.
The heaviness takes over my body, like I’m being pulled through the floor by an unknown force to another realm.
My world slowly starts to come to and end and the last thing I see behind my heavy eyelids are forest green eyes.