Chapter 23
Exhausted, I slump down on the bed. The mattress is firm but comfortable enough, and I lie back, careful of the wound on the back of my head.
Staring up the white ceiling I go over everything that’s happened in the past couple of hours.
The attack on Ricky is at the forefront of my mind.
I can’t help but still be concerned about him, even after everything he’s done, almost like he’s conditioned me to feel that way.
I have no idea where to go from here, or how to get away from here without a car.
I need to use this cash wisely. Lifting my hands to my eyes, I force the heels of my palms into the sockets until bursts of colours explode behind my eyelids, then drop them, and bring myself up, the motion sends a dizzying wave over me for a moment.
Regaining my composure, I grab the bag and pull the zip open, and dig around in the contents until I find a basic t-shirt and grey sweatpants and some clean underwear.
After moving in with Ricky I managed to keep a box of old clothes hidden in the back of the wardrobe in case I ever needed them. I guess that time would be now.
Grabbing my clothes I make my way over to the bathroom, my hand fumbling around on the wall until I grab the string for the light and pull.
The old fluorescent bulb flickers to life, starting off as a dim glow before illuminating the room in a pale white light.
In the small bathroom, there’s a basic white toilet and matching sink lining the wall, the porcelain is chipped and cracked in places and a small shower cubicle sits against the opposite wall.
A cloudy plastic cubicle encases the shower head.
I place my clothes on the closed lid of the toilet and open the creaky shower door before reaching in and turning the dial to start the water.
It only takes a couple of minutes for the water to come through, it sputters then starts to stream through the shower head, steam starts to fill the room.
Carefully, I begin to undress, easing the jumper over my head and laying it on the toilet with my clean clothes, then I drop my arms out of the ripped blouse before letting the tattered material fall to the floor, and unfasten my trousers.
Stepping out of them, I discard them with the torn blouse.
Reaching behind my back I unclasp my bra, letting it fall freely along with my underwear that I choose to throw away with the rest of my clothes.
The memory of Ricky shoving his hand into pants fires into my mind and I have to steady myself with the sink.
The sickening image flicked across my eyes like an old film.
After a minute I climb into the shower, the hot water bounces off my skin like heavy rain.
I lift my chin and tip my head back until my hair is soaked, standing still for a moment, my arms wrapped around my middle, I relish in the warmth the water is providing.
Bringing my head forward, droplets of water begin to trail down my face, landing delicately on my eyelashes, and I bring both my hands to my face to wipe them away.
Carefully, I pushed my fingers into the back of my hair, attempting to feel how big the cut was on my head.
My fingertips brush over the gash and I wince, but luckily it doesn’t feel too deep and it should hopefully heal on its own.
I can’t risk going to the hospital in case I’m recognised or Ricky already has people looking for me.
I already know in my heart that my husband isn’t the type of person to let me go so easily.
Luckily there’s already a shampoo and conditioner bottle on the shower floor.
Relief hits me instantly at the thought of being able to properly wash my hair.
Squeezing the shampoo into the palm of my hand, I place the bottle back down and rub my palms together, creating a floral scented foam in my hands before massaging it into my hair, careful of the wound.
The sensation of my fingers running over my scalp has me leaning my head back and closing my eyes.
A small pleasure in this deadly situation.
Rinsing the bubbles away, a slightly pink tinge colours the water before running clear again.
I repeat the process with the conditioner, then I manage to wash my body with a bar of soap and my hands.
It’s not the best but it’s better than nothing.
Wrapping my hands around my hair I squeeze out the excess water and step out of the shower, my skin pebbling from the cold.
I search the room until I find a grey towel hung on a rail on the wall, and run the scratchy material over my hair before patting my body dry, being extra careful around the cuts and bruises that litter my skin.
In a haste I quickly dress to fight off the cold and hang the towel back up to dry.
Bringing my hand up to the mirror above the sink I wipe away the condensation, revealing myself.
The darkness of my natural hair is starting to break through the cheap, fake blonde that I’ve always hated, but never had the balls to change, even more so when Ricky started to make comments on it.
“It looks cheap.”
“You look like a fucking stripper.”
I hear his voice so clearly in my head that I have to cover my ears to block out the nightmare. I’ve never seen my face so unrecognisable before, so empty and lifeless.
A carcass.
My eye sockets are sinking in, a bluish hue covers the delicate skin.
The gash on my forehead has begun to heal but now a purplish bruise has begun to bloom around the wound, along with a matching one that’s turning slightly yellow on my cheek bone.
Letting go of my ears I bring my fingertips to the bruises, the pads of my slim fingers ghosting over the damage, and I lift my chin to see the same bruises litter my neck, like a horrifying dog collar.
The indentations of Ricky’s fingers wrap all the way around, like the ghost of his hand is still there.
I drop my head and quickly escape the bathroom, not wanting to look at myself any longer.
I make a mental note of finding a bag to put the old clothes in to throw away when I leave, I can’t leave any evidence left behind that I’ve been here. I need to become a ghost. Like I never existed in the first place.
Walking over to the window, I draw the curtains closed, blocking out the moonlight and any onlookers then round the bed, my footsteps silent on the worn carpet as I make my way over to the door and turn the key, hearing it lock, then slide it out.
With the key in hand I scan the room to see if I can find anything to budge under the door handle.
I know Darlene said I would be safe here but my flight or fight senses are already kicking in, doing whatever they can to protect me.
A wooden chair sits against the drawers, and I drag it over to the door, pushing the back of it under the door handle, giving it a quick shake to make sure it’s secure before dropping my bag onto the floor next to the bed and climbing under the scratchy sheets.
I place the key on the bedside table and flick the light off, shrouding me in complete darkness except for a small slither of light that breaks itself free from under the door, illuminating a small patch of the carpet.
My thoughts are heavy as I try to relax as best as I can in the bed, listening to every single sound I can pinpoint.
The dull noise of odd cars driving past, the walls settling and creaking, the water dripping from the shower, all of it mixing together creates an odd lullaby.
My eyes become heavy and I struggle to keep them open, letting sleep take me under.
***
The morning comes around quicker than I would like, my brain feels foggy and heavy, like I could sleep for another week but I need to get moving.
With much reluctance, I drag myself out of the stiff bed, the wooden frame creaking as I move.
Sitting up, I stretch my arms above my head, my muscles and joints pop under the pressure, the damage from the last couple of days hits me like a freight train.
My eyes roamed over the room to make sure everything was exactly where I left it, the chair pushed under the door handle, my bag against the bed on the floor and the door key sat on the bedside unit next to the lamp.
There’s also a small plastic clock sitting next to the lamp, the time reading 7:30am.
I wonder if I’ll ever have a restful sleep.
Scrambling my hand aimlessly inside of the opened bag on the floor, pushing the clothes aside to find a small zip up pouch filled with essential toiletries, pulling it free from the confines of the clothes, I trod over to the small bathroom, pulling the cord for the light in my still dazed state, the lights flickering to life again.
My sensitive eyes squint and blink rapidly at the intrusion before standing in front of the sink and turning on the cold water tap.
The icy water flushes through the pipes, splattering the grimy sink, and I cup my hands under the spray and splash the freezing water on my face.
The shock of the coldness has me sucking in a sharp breath but I welcome the freshness, instantly waking me up.
After brushing my teeth I open the packet of contraception pills, making a note of how many I have left, about two weeks worth.
I’ll have to figure out how to get my hands on some more.
I started taking the birth control pills soon after Ricky started to force himself on me, he never came inside of me but I couldn’t have too much protection from him.
I refused to bring a child into our toxic relationship and I’m grateful for that decision now.
Piercing the small tin foil packet with my thumb, I drop the small circle tablet in my mouth before swallowing it down, the powdery texture leaves a sour taste on my tongue.