26. Chapter 26 #2
When the last bubbles rinse free, the sprayer retracts back into its housing as I gather the uneven chunks and squeeze out some of the water.
She smells a little better, even though the scent of her dish soap is mixing with the sour aroma of her neglected pits.
Yeah, we’re fixing that, too.
Water trails behind us in the shape of her bare feet and my boot treads as I lead her out of the kitchen to her room.
Then I see them—her meds. They're scattered all over the pale carpet. Whole bottles worth are thrown about like confetti between us and the bathroom door.
Sadie gasps and takes me by surprise.
Hmm.
I don't speak. Watching and waiting to see what else she’ll do, if anything at all.
"M...my p...pills. What happened?"
Seriously?
"Why don't you tell me?"
"I—I don't know. Why would someone do this?"
"Sunshine, you were alone,” cautious of my tone. She seems genuinely confused. I take a step to the side and watch as devastation crosses her face.
She doesn't remember...
"You know no one else was here, right?"
"N...not even you?" Her voice catches.
"No, not even me."
Without warning, her trembling transforms into full blown shakes. At her stomach, her hands war with one another then fiddle with the front of her blood-crusted shirt.
"I ne...need them. Please, please don't throw them away. I'll still take them after being on the floor." I hear her whimper.
My brows pinch in confusion. Raising my hand, it rests carefully at the side of her face when I turn her to look my way.
"Not going to throw away your meds. I'll put them back in the bottles while you're in the bath."
"You promise?" If her voice gets any smaller—
"Promise, Sunshine. Come on, let's get you cleaned up."
Together we walk into the bathroom, where Sadie tenses and uses herself as a roadblock to stop me. With a flick of my wrist, I hit the light switch. Fluorescence blindingly spills inside and unveils damage I didn't see on the cameras.
"What the fuck?"
"E...Elias..." She chokes at the end of a breath.
Glass is all over the place. The mirror? It’s hanging off the wall with pieces still stuck behind metal brackets once used to hold it in place.
Swollen splashes of dried blood trail from the sink, to the attached closet, and out. Now I know where she hurt herself, not that it matters.
Releasing her, I yank the hand towel off its hook near the door and wipe the counter free of glass.
Tiny clinking sounds of all pitches rattle throughout the space while Sadie stands to the side, tearfully sniffing.
Throwing the towel into a corner, I grab her by the waist, lift, and sit her on the empty counter space.
"Don't move. I'm getting a broom and the trashcan to get this shit up. I'll fix the mirror later. Promise me."
Red-rimmed and drowned-eyes look around us. Her pink nose and tear-softened lips feel like a punch to the gut—these are real. Heartfelt, painstaking, tears.
Directing her to me, my forehead presses to hers.
"Promise. Now."
"I....I p...promise."
"Good girl," I say roughly.
I press a soft kiss to her lips and leave her there. It’s time to start my chore list.
Number one : Clean up the glass.
An hour ago, if you'd have asked me what I expected to find when I walked in here, it wouldn't be a sixty-pound pile of glass, pills used as confetti, and Sadie’s fragile shell.
All of the glass was up and tossed, including the fine pieces that would inevitably end up in her feet—had to use a wet rag for those pesky sons of bitches.
Next came the pills, which I sorted by size, color, and the numbers stamped into them. It took me too long, but I was able to get them back in their assigned bottles.
Sadie remained in the warm water and shallow layer of bubbles the entire time.
Anytime she moved, they swished around and threw more of their citrusy-floral scent into the air.
Beneath the water, her mangled nails dug at her cuticles, and when they stopped cooperating, she moved down to her toes before giving up.
I've been standing here, arms crossed and perched against the counter across from the tub for the past few minutes.
She's not looked at me once. I truly don't mind; she needs her space and to deal with her issues in a way that works for her.
But right now, she's too far off the reservation and she needs help.
While cleaning, I found her hairbrush and the scissors below chunks in the sink. They sit behind me now as I weigh her emotions before I do something that fucks her up even more. Finally speaking, I anticipate her backlash.
"Sunshine?"
"Hmm," she responds without delay.
"Did a number on your hair. Not the best person with a pair of shears, but..." The question feels like I'm crossing a different kind of line. She's put so much faith and trust in me over the years; this would reach beyond that—somehow.
"I'd like to even it for you. Do you want me to do that?" I aim for consent this go around since we typically press the other’s buttons and take shots until someone complies.
To show her I'm serious, I twist and pick up what I need. I don’t want her to see her reflection like this, not when she’s already torn up. She’ll break all over again.
I may have more skill with a razor, but at least if I even her hair out, her reflection won’t be as jarring. And when she's better, I'll take her to a real hair dresser and let them finish what we both started.
Sitting on the side of the tub, Sadie's shoulders tense. I'm not going to hurt her, she knows that, but actions scream when you can't trust yourself. I don’t fault her for not trusting me.
Like ignoring a falling child who looks for help, I reach into the water, cup it, and begin pouring it over her shoulders and down her back.
Her bones are prominent—vertebrae sit millimeters under the skin, ready to slice through and taunt me.
She’s already underweight; days without eating and mistreating herself has taken its toll.
Sure wish I knew where the woman was from a month or two ago. The vicious one who busted my lip and had me eager to see her. I know she's in there, I just have to show her it's safe to come out.
So, I keep rinsing.
A flicker of warmth flutters in my chest when I see goosebumps poke their tiny heads up before hiding again. Slowly, some of her tension fades with them.
She’s always so responsive.
That's right, Sunshine. Show me you're still in there.
"Going to brush your hair now. Then trim the longer pieces. There's not many, alright?"
She answers with the slightest nod—I'll take it.
Leaving the scissors on the tub's edge, I run the brush through her hair with easy strokes to break up the tangles. Weary over pulling too much or too hard, when I find a rat's nest that's uncooperative, I shift and work from the bottom up instead.
If she had her long hair still, we would be at this forever, so maybe cutting it is a blessing in disguise.
Once they're out, I reach for her shoulder and straighten her up. She’s warm under my touch after soaking, thank God. She's clean, smells better, and looks better—baby steps.
Here we go.
Grabbing the scissors, I use my non-dominant hand to brush a section and snip the longer piece closer to the same length as the rest. Then repeat.
At the foot of her bed, I’ve been watching her sleep.
She’s tuckered out. When I went to help her out of the bath to dry off, she freaked out.
First was hysterical sobbing. Then dissociation as I placed butterfly stitches to seal her wounds; thankfully, most of them weren’t too deep.
As long as she keeps them clean, they’ll do fine.
The ones on the left arm were the worst. I had to glue them instead. Shit burns, and if you set it wrong, that’s where it stays. Is the work perfect? No, but I did my best as she jerked around. At least they’re closed and wrapped to protect the glue from her ravaged fingernails.
After that was the yelling and screaming. Then Sadie broke down when she couldn’t find her phone with her dosing alarms. So, we had to start over. Now the reminder’s on mine, and I'll be counting the pills every day. She has an excess, but I'll throw the extra away once we get a refill.
When I finally gave her what she needed to take, she got all pissy because I crushed and put them in water. I don’t trust her not to cheek them for later. I've seen my fair share of soldiers who abused their pills, and she's definitely riding that train.
At least she's out now, angry even in her sleep. With brows pinched and a scowl on her face. Fucking hell. Alright, back to work.
Number infinity: Hide everything she can hurt herself with.