3. - – Sarah
CHAPTER THREE
-
SARAH
Blood runs down the drain as I wash away the night.
So much blood.
There was so much blood.
Mitch was covered in it.
So am I.
I scrub harder. It’s still red.
It’s not until I hiss with pain that I realize the red is from the way I’ve rubbed my skin raw.
The water beats against my shoulders. Fog curls around the glass.
Mitch wasn’t always like this. He used to be sweet. Kind. Loving. Everything I thought I ever wanted in a man. But most of all, he made time for me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but the water runs clear now as I stand with my head under the shower head. I feel like it’s washing away some sin I’ve hidden for too long. My hair clings to my face.
Images of Mitch’s snarling face as he choked me come to the forefront of my mind, and my legs wobble. The flash of the officer’s gun as he barged into my home. Mitch’s wide eyes as the gun fired.
The blood.
The sound of his body hitting the floor. A sickening thud that still echoes in my ears over the hiss of the shower.
The officer’s steady voice as he picked me up in his arms and carried me out of the house. His vest was rough against my cheek, but grounding.
I turn off the water and grab a towel before wrapping it around my body. The fabric scrapes over bruises I forgot were there—and places that aren’t bruised at all. Raw skin burns along my throat, my jaw, my shoulders. I flinch.
My reflection bleeds through the fogged mirror enough to reveal blotchy skin and swollen eyes. My face looks wrong. Puffy. Uneven. There’s already a black eye blooming, and angry red marks ring my neck like fingerprints.
I can’t let the kids see.
Foundation. Concealer. More concealer. It does nothing for the swelling. Nothing for the scrapes. I give up before I make it worse and pull my hair forward, praying it hides enough.
They wanted me to go to the hospital. The EMTs. The officer. Everyone.
I said no until my voice went hoarse. Until my mother showed up and promised she’d take me herself if anything got worse.
They documented everything anyway.
They can never know.
The stairs creak as I walk down them. I don’t remember it making this much noise. The scent of coffee drifts from the kitchen.
“How are you feeling, hun?” My mother asks when she sees me. She stands at the counter with a mug in her hand, brows pinched with worry.
My boyfriend just tried to kill me. How do you think I’m doing? I’m a terrible mother. No mother would ever let a monster like that into their house.
Instead of screaming every answer at her, I shake my head and give her a soft smile. “Can I have some coffee?” I take a seat at the table and pull my legs up to my chest. The wooden chair creaks beneath me.
Maybe something warm will help ease my nerves.
She places a hot cup of coffee in front of me. My hands tremble as I take the mug, and I tighten my grip to keep from dropping it.
I bring the mug to my lips. My heart skips a beat.
Mitch’s hands wrap around my throat, squeezing tighter and tighter.
I choke, sputtering. Coffee sloshes over the rim as I slam the mug down.
I touch my neck and focus on the feeling of my own hand. I’m safe now. I’m no longer in that hell. My mother’s face comes into view as she leans down to wrap her arms around me. “It’ll take time, but you’ll heal, sweetheart.”
I know she means well. I do. But her words bring me no comfort. I don’t want time to heal this wound. I deserve the shame and the pain from it all.
“Mom?” Max appears in the doorway. Max appears in the doorway.
He doesn’t say anything at first.
His eyes go to my face. My neck. The way my hands are wrapped too tightly around the mug.
His socks slide on the tile as he closes the distance between us and wraps his arms around me. His hair flops to the side. “Are you okay?” His voice is steady, but his eyes aren’t.
“Everything’s okay, honey. Nothing to worry about.”
The words sound thin, even to me.
Max doesn’t argue. He doesn’t nod either. He just holds onto me a little tighter, like he knows better than to ask again. He’s always been able to tell when something’s wrong, and I don’t want him to dig too deep today.
To my mom, he asks, “What’s for dinner, maw maw?”
She ruffles his hair and laughs. “You just had a snack thirty minutes ago. Dinner isn’t for another hour.”
Max groans, getting off my lap and heading for the door. “I’m starving.”
I shake my head and circle my arms around myself.
Even with everything breaking inside me, I’m grateful he lets the lie sit between us. Just for tonight.