Chapter 18
Anika
I smile. I’m polite. I help people when they need it. It’s all fake. It feels fake and forced.
I came back to work because Ellie said I needed to get out of the house. Maybe she was right. Maybe not. I can’t say for sure. I don’t really know how I feel right now. There’s a tightness in my chest that never seems to go away. I feel anxious and not like myself.
If I’m being honest, I miss him. I didn’t think I would after what happened, but I do. It’s like a piece of me is missing. I know what he said. He didn’t want a relationship, and I respect that. I’m doing the best I can, though. And keeping him at a distance has to be the right thing. Isn’t it?
I feel the tears burn the back of my eyes, and I quickly walk to the bathroom to wash my face. I splash cold water on my face, trying to stop the tears from falling. I feel like that’s all I’ve done for weeks. Cry. Just cry. And I don’t know what I’m crying for.
I grab the paper towels and wipe my face before tossing them in the trash. I take a look at myself in the mirror and sigh. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be here. Those people, those me would be out there anywhere. They could be watching me. They could be waiting.
In reality, I know that’s probably not the truth, but that’s the way I feel inside. My stomach cramps, and I rush into the stall before throwing up. This is what my life has come down to.
After cleaning myself up, I walk back out and tell my boss I need to leave. I can’t be here. I can’t plaster on a smile and make it through the day.
I leave work and walk down the block to the park.
Maybe some fresh air will do me some good.
I doubt that, though. Fear prickles the back of my neck, creeping over my body until I shiver.
Are they watching me? Are they out there?
I find myself whipping my head around to look for them, but I don’t see anyone. I’m paranoid.
“No one is out there,” I whisper to myself. I try to force myself to enjoy the cool breeze that blows through the trees, but I can’t. And before long, I find myself back at the apartment.
For the most part, I feel like a zombie. A machine that just methodically gets through the days. I’m not living. I don’t feel like I’m alive. And that bothers me.
I walk into the apartment knowing that Ellie isn’t home and probably won’t be for a while. I feel like I’m in a haze. Everything around me seems fuzzy.
Dropping my purse on the chair, I head for my room and sit on the edge of the bed.
I rest my head in my hands, contemplating what to do next.
I know what I want to do. I know what I shouldn’t do, but there’s this urge inside me.
We need to see the end. The need for all the pain and fear to be over with. It’s overwhelming.
I swallow hard and stand from the bed and walk into the bathroom. I find the razor and snap the handle off before pulling the blade free.
Nothing is going to get better. Nothing is going to be the same again. I don’t think I will ever heal from this.
I walk back to the bed and climb on before grabbing my phone.
I debate texting Ellie. I debate writing a note.
What does a person do in a situation like this?
Don’t they leave a note? Tell people how sorry they are that they had to do this?
That they love them, and it isn’t their fault.
I almost laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.
Ellie would never forgive me. Not even with a note, so what’s the fucking point?
She would hate me for what I’m thinking.
She would try to talk me out of it. I set the razor blade on the bed and just look at it.
So sharp. It would be easy. It wouldn’t take much.
And as numb as I feel, I probably wouldn’t even feel it.
But what am I gaining? What is the world gaining? Isn’t that letting them win? Isn’t that giving in to them? They wanted to see me dead. They wanted to see me hurt. And I fucking hurt. It’s a pain so deep that I can hardly stand it. It’s killing me slowly.
I pull up Patch’s name on my phone. After a few weeks of fucking he finally gave me his number.
I don’t know why. That was all we were. We were all about sex and nothing more.
So why do I feel a connection to him? Why do I feel like it hurts to breathe without him?
Stupid, Anika. You went through a traumatic experience with him, that’s why. It means nothing.
I type out a text that says I’m sorry. Then I delete before retyping it once more.
What am I sorry for? For caring about him?
For being in the situation with him? What the hell do I have to be sorry for?
I didn’t plan on any of this. I didn’t want this.
And yet I feel sorry. I feel sorry that he went through it.
I feel sorry that he had to deal with what he did.
And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m fucking sorry.
My finger hovers over the send button for a long time. I think it over. What could it hurt to send? What difference would it make?
After debating it in my head for what seems like forever, I press the goddamn button and send the two little words that make my chest deflate. It feels good to have said it. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it, but it did.
I go to my music app and pull up the songs. Slipknot’s Snuff plays over the small speaker in my room. I pick the blade up as I listen to the words. I close my eyes and get lost in the sound of his voice, the tone, the words.
I can hear Patch in my head telling me we were nothing but sex.
I can hear that asshole who raped me breathing down my neck.
I can feel his body pressed to mine. I can smell him.
His breath as it danced across my face. I can taste the vomit in my mouth as I tried so fucking hard not to throw up as he took what he wanted.
I lift the blade and press it to my wrist. The music is louder now, thumping through my veins. I want to claw at my skin, I want to rip my hair out. I want to forget, I just want to forget it all.
Then I do it. I press the blade into my flesh and let out a sigh as I cut. It’s letting go. It’s like letting everything out. It feels … different. Good even.
The pain doesn’t even register as I drag the blade further up my arm. It’s euphoric. I keep my eyes closed and lean back against the headboard as warmth floods down my arm and drips onto my thigh.
It all fades. The hate, the pain, the fear. Behind my closed lids, there’s light. One I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Light that calls to me. Light that needs me.
And I want to let it take me. I want to let go. I want to see what’s on the other side of that light. I need to.
I lie here, basking in the warmth, when I hear Ellie. She’s calling me, but I can’t reach me. I’m drifting, floating into a place where no one can hurt me. No one can touch.