nineteen #4
Long, spindling fingers emerge from the steam, attached to eerie hands that are reaching for me, and I allow them to wrap around my body like thorns from a branch, pulling me deeper into my remorse.
Instead of doing further damage to my hand, I grab the first thing I could find and hurl it at the tile. The loud thunk of the pumice stone hitting the wall is drowned out by the beating water all around. With another unholy roar, I grab anything I can find and start chucking them at the wall.
My body is hurting. My mom is dead, and I never got to tell her goodbye. How did she even die? She probably wasn’t even 50 years old. My beautiful mom that abandoned me is dead, and I never found out why she chose to let me go.
Why she watched me leave with nothing. I scream again because those answers were taken from me. Everything was taken from me. I have lost everything, and I’m in danger of losing everything again. The home I found all on my own. The family I created from other misfits with fucked up pasts.
Now, apparently, I have two little sisters, one of whom I’ve never even met.
My parents must have had her after they kicked me out, trying to replace the child they discarded like a clock that could no longer tell time.
De Luca said that Violet is taking care of her, and oh God, that must be so difficult.
What happened to our dad? Did he die with our mom?
I hate that another pang of sadness hits me in the chest with that thought.
I told myself I hate my dad. I told myself that I didn’t care when the bastard kicked me out, but now he’s probably gone, too.
Perhaps I still clung to the hope of forgiveness from them.
That they would someday welcome me back into their home with open arms, but they didn’t even try to find me.
I’m angry for the family I lost. But I gained a family too.
One I love and trust. Well, I thought I trusted Peadar until today.
Peadar’s nasally voice in my head sounds like it is in the shower with me as it tells me that I need to kill my sister for the sake of the organization. What if I lost the only family I had left because I couldn’t do it? What if I did put the entire organization at risk? What if I lose them too?
Oh, God. I can’t bear the thought of being alone in the world again.
I hate myself. I have no one to blame but myself, after all.
It’s my fault that I’m gay. It’s my fault that my father kicked me out, and I wasn’t there for my mother’s final days.
It will be my fault when I lose my new family.
I am dirty, stained by a sudden, heavy betrayal.
I need to wash the evidence from my skin.
I quickly grab the soap and scrub brush that landed on the floor from my anger with a trembling hand. Once it is lathered, I begin scratching my skin until it’s raw. It’s red and angry, finally resembling how it felt when I revealed my cards to Callisto.
Because I let Callisto in and answered his stupid questions due to my own desire to not be a villain in his story, I ended up right where he wanted me.
I am the villain, though. I am the monster.
I kidnapped him. I tortured someone today.
I killed him in cold blood, watched as the red substance seeped out of him until he was no longer twitching.
I am a monster. I am the villain as Callisto said.
I scrub my body again, trying to feel clean and somehow not so alone, but I am alone.
I’m alone in this shower. Alone with my thoughts.
I’m drowning. I can’t fucking breathe. I don’t deserve to breathe, though.
Clean air is for clean people, and I am dirty.
I’m tainted by my job and my past. Callisto said so. And I agree.
I can’t even do my job properly anymore.
I stupidly jeopardized the family I found for the sake of a girl I don't even know.
When Peadar finds out, he will kill me, or worse, abandon me like my parents did.
More panic rises with the thought. Cold and alone again.
I try to calm myself, try to breathe, but I can't.
I concentrate on the soapy water going down the drain until it runs clear, spiraling much like my thoughts, but it looks wrong somehow. It should have blood in it. It should be tinted red as it circles the drain, but it’s not. It’s clear.
This amount of pain should draw blood, right? Some evidence of my turmoil, but the water is clear. No fog. No mud. It’s clean, and I don't understand how. It should be dirty at the very least. It should be brown as it washes my sins away.
My knees buckle, and I sink down to the shower floor.
I curl in on myself, squeezing my knees close, as tightly as my body will allow.
I need to protect myself from this turmoil.
Protect my vital organs, like I would in a fight, but my opponent isn’t corporeal.
No. My opponent is the ghosts of my past, and the blows are landing.
The water is cold now, the temperature feeling frigid against my overheated and raw skin. I don’t react, though, my mind replaying the memories over and over in my head, not being able to decide on which era of my life it wants me to focus on.
The only prevalent thought is family. The family I was born with and the one I made, and how I disappointed both. I rock back and forth, my feet propelling the motion as my breaths come out in quick, short huffs. The walls… they’re closing in.