Rory
Thirty-Nine
Ipopped my pill organizer, looked at the half a dozen drugs that kept me sane, and debated on throwing them in the damn trash can.
Trauma was a cunt, because why was I dating an insanely gorgeous woman who worshiped the ground I walked on and I felt myself trying to sabotage it?
Why was I like this? Why did my mother have to be a raging bitch who ruined my life, giving me a shit load of issues?
Dumping the pills into my hand, I popped them into my mouth, washing them down with hot chamomile tea. Today wasn’t a good day, and I knew it wasn’t a good day. If I was being honest, the last few days weren’t great because of everything going on.
Cinder was pissing me off, and I knew I was close to snapping. With the drive-by and an apparent stalker, she was glued to me, asking me if I was okay, being extra persistent and pushy, and being a helicopter sister. I loved her, but sometimes I just needed her to stop.
ME
Today isn’t a good day, so I’m sorry if I seem avoidant.
HADES
Do you need anything from me?
ME
No. I have good days and bad days. It comes with the trauma. I’m sorry.
HADES
Don’t apologize. I’m all in, baby. If you need anything, call me and I’ll be there.
Remember: you’re a warrior. My valkyrie.
God, I didn’t deserve this woman. I swooned at the nickname she’d given me.
I walked out of my room and stepped into the kitchen to make a cup of chamomile tea. The kitchen felt far away as I looked at the murky liquid in the cup. I wanted one day where the world didn't feel like it was weighing me down or my trauma wasn’t rearing its ugly head.
“My pretty princess, you did such a good job tonight,” Jude sang as he wielded the bloody knife and turned his camera off.
A sob caught in my throat as he stepped back towards me and cut the rope.
My arms fell limply above my head, pain radiating through me.
It hurt to breathe, and the air made everything feel like it was on fire.
I hiccupped as he pressed his lips to my temple, signaling we were done tonight. I wanted everything to be done.
“Don’t touch her,” Jude hissed to someone next to me as he stepped out of the room.
My head lolled to the side, fresh tears slipping from my eyes as footsteps got closer to me. “You’re gonna be okay, princess. Your prince will take care of you.”
“Firefly?” Cinder put her hand on my shoulder, pulling me back to reality and scaring the life out of me as I jumped and the cup slipped to the floor. The cup shattered, shards of glass and hot tea hitting my legs.
Shit.
She reached for my wrist, but I forcefully pulled my arm away from her. “Respectfully, don’t touch me right now, Cinder,” I snapped.
“I called your name a few times, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize yo—”
“Stop.” I stepped back from her, needing her to leave me alone for a second while I gathered myself.
“I can’t promise you that I won’t hit you if you touch me right now.
The flashback was new, and you scared me.
” I saw the hurt in Cinder’s eyes. “I’m sorry.
It’s not a good day. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed.
I love you. I’m fine. I’m going back to my room. ”
My tears mixed with the scalding water that assaulted my body.
There was a screaming cacophony in my head and they were all too loud and too demanding.
I ran my hands over my face, hating myself for crying.
Tears were a weakness. Tears were things Aurora June did, not Rory. I didn’t fucking cry, goddamn it.
I was tired of this.
I was tired of being strong.
Tired of constantly surviving.
Tired of healing from shit my mother caused.
And I was so goddamn tired of finding out new things to heal from.
My fist slammed against the wall as more tears streamed down my face. I didn’t know what God was up there tormenting me, but I needed a goddess to beat the shit out of them. Men made my life miserable, even the divine kind.
I gave myself this moment of weakness, and then I would be back to my badass self who used dark humor to cope and dished my dirty laundry to my therapist, not my shower. God, Izzy was about to have a field day with our next session.
I forced myself out of the shower, dread hugging my body as I wrapped a towel around my body.
My tattoos covered the majority of my scars, but I still knew where each and every one lived on my skin.
Now I was questioning if Jude was the only one who carved me up.
With another person there with him, what else was done to me?
What else would I remember as time went on?
My hand swiped across the mirror, wiping the steam away. I looked at my sad, red, puffy blue eyes in the mirror. “You’re a survivor, Rory. A badass survivor who is a goddamn warrior. Kick ass and take names.”
I hoped it would be enough, because this was not the Rory I wanted to be.