Chapter Ten
Rosalie
Returning to school the next day is like a knife to the gut—tender and refreshing that oozing wound.
The whispers and laughter have gotten louder as I step aimlessly through the halls.
Everywhere I go, there are prying eyes on me, but I couldn’t be more numb to it all.
Something broke inside of me yesterday, and I can’t find it in me to care anymore.
I’m going through the motions, opening the locker I never use before shoving random books into it and shuffling to my first hour class.
When Charlie sees me, I don’t even register that it’s her with her downcast expression. Her eyes bore into me with concern, but I can’t even speak as I open my textbook and watch the words float off the page.
“You’re worrying me, Rose.”
I can hear my friend, but every sound is like drowning—muffled and gurgling to my ears.
“Rose!”
I watch as the book before me takes shape, transforming into something ambiguous as it sucks me in further. There’s a sharp, pinching sensation in the foreground, but I can’t make out what it is as I become lost to the hallucination.
A hard smack to my cheek snaps me out of it, and I blink.
“What are you doing?!” Charlie hisses before her hands fumble over my textbook.
I finally see what the faint pain is, and my stomach rebels as I dig my mechanical pencil’s point into the center of my shredded palm. Charlie snatches it from me, causing me to finally look at her.
Her face falls, and I swear I see tears welling in her eyes. “Rose, are you okay?”
My bottom lip wobbles as my voice becomes a deathly faint whisper. “No…”
Seeing my best friend’s expression is like witnessing a silent cry—her gaze becomes entirely focused on me as her thick brows tighten in worry.
Her pupils dilate, and there’s a tension in her face that I can’t place.
It’s like she’s seeing under the hard, unrelenting surface of my being, and picking out the dead and dormant parts of myself that I can’t mend.
It’s exposing.
I already feel vulnerable enough, but I can’t hide what’s happening to me. I’ve been unraveled—pulled apart at the very seams that bind me.
“Rose…” Charlie mumbles sadly.
“I’m okay,” my voice wavers, and I feel off balance as my hands grip the edge of my desk.
She doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame her. I’m sure I look deranged as I fight to keep my composure. I’m losing my grip on reality, and I can only smile as I try to convince myself that I’m fine.
I’m anything but fine.
I’m losing myself.
“Talk to me,” Charlie urges in a whisper. Her hand inches onto my desk, desperate to grab my own in a comforting gesture. “Please, Rose.”
My gaze flickers between her eyes as the smile slips from my face. That familiar, crushing weight settles over me again, clawing at my limbs. I let my expression melt, the exhaustion seeping through every part of me.“I’m so tired, Charlie…”
Her head tilts as her bottom lip wobbles. I’m not trying to make her cry, but as tears roll down her cheeks, it breaks my heart. “I know…”
I smile past the broken fragments. “No, you don’t.”
Charlie didn’t let me out of her sight for the rest of the day. I didn’t speak, but she didn’t need me to. She stood over me like a watchdog, warning anyone who dared to come close.
It was nice to have her presence, but as I walk my path back home, my mind wanders. I can’t even focus on the warming summer weather or the cracked asphalt beneath my feet.
I’m in limbo—somewhere between life and death. I don’t think I’m present, but I’m also not completely gone. It’s as if I ceased to exist, seeing everything from a corporeal body that’s constantly floating above me.
I’m not upset or happy. I’m just…here.
Floating.
I’m so distracted by my state that I don’t notice the Corolla parked in the driveway as I step onto the porch of my home. The danger doesn’t register until I shuffle into the living room and close the door behind me.
“You know, Rosalie…”
Dad’s voice sends needles down my spine as my shoulders tense. I slowly turn towards the kitchen, gulping when I see him holding up the Juilliard pamphlet.
He’s dressed in a sweat-stained t-shirt and some old jeans.
His dark hair is slicked back like he’s been running his hands through it, and his wide eyes are bloodshot.
His presence is a shock considering he’s been gone, but what’s even more startling is the sour smell of alcohol that oozes from his pores.
It singes my nose, burning as the scent wraps around me.
“I’ve been so fucking good to you,” Dad shakes his head before slapping the brochure down onto the crowded kitchen island.
I swallow, emotions clogging my throat as my hands begin to shake. “Dad—”
He closes in on me, his heavy, quick steps eating the distance between us as my hands come up on reflex.
He crowds me back into the door, and panic grips my system.
His face twists in disgust, and as he berates me, spit lands on my cheek.
“You think you’re too good for this fucking town, huh?
! I give you a roof over your head, and this is how you repay me?
Leaving just like your whore of a mother did. ”
I stammer, stumbling over my words as I fight to calm him down. “It-It’s college, Dad. I don’t think I’m too good—”
The slap he delivers causes my head to whip to the side as I bite down on my tongue. Pain sears into me, and I whimper as he gets close to my face.
“You can barely survive this, Rosalie.” He spits cruelly. “How do you expect to survive the real world?”
My mouth moves as tears spill down my cheeks, but no sound comes out. Formulating a sentence is impossible when I don’t know how to defend myself.
I’m trapped.
He grabs my throat, his fingers biting into my windpipe as I choke. My hands fumble with his wrist, clawing away at him as he shoves me against the door until the back of my head smacks painfully against the wood.
“You think you’re too good for me? Huh?! I’ll show you what you are, Rosalie.” He growls before tossing me to the floor. My nose hits, sending pain shooting through my face as I scramble to pick myself up. I lift onto my arms, my ears ringing.
“You’re fucking nothing!” Dad yells over me, causing my joints to lock up in fear as my vision blurs.
He crouched beside me, grabbing a fistful of my hair before wrenching my head back.
“Just like your god damned mother. You want to follow in her footsteps? I’ll do to you what I should have done to her years ago. ”
He releases me, and I nearly buckle to the floor as a broken sob crests past my trembling lips.
I have to get up.
I have to move.
“Don’t fucking cry now,” Dad tuts, sounding like he’s on the brink of insanity. He flips the trash can’s lid with a flick of his wrist, sending the plastic tumbling across the kitchen as he digs out a shard of glass from the broken mirror.
He holds it up, and the light glinting off of it causes my heart to rev in fear. I scramble back, lifting my hands as I plead for him to stop. “Dad! Dad, please—”
He sneers as he stalks towards me. There’s no light in his dead, dim eyes as he glowers down at me like some sick god tormenting his own creation. “You look so much like her, but not for long.”
I scream as he covers me, dropping to his knees as he attempts to pin my kicking legs. I thrash wildly, taking unknowing swipes near his face to get him off. He uses a knee to trap my thigh, and I plant my hand over his mouth before shoving him back with as much force as I can.
“STOP!” I shout when he doesn’t budge.
“I’m doing this for your own good!” He grits before his hand slices over my throat, and there’s a stinging pain that follows. The cut is shallow and just under my chin, but as I feel warmth trickle down my neck, something snaps in me.
My skin buzzes with energy and power I didn’t know I had as my mind bellows for me to get away. I know it’s my adrenaline coursing through my veins, but it’s what I need to save myself.
I plant a foot into his abdomen and kick with all my might. It sends my dad flying back, and the glass shatters on the floor, mixing with the splatters of my blood.
“Ungrateful bitch!” He shouts, jolting me out of my shock. I scramble up before launching myself at the front door.
An iron grip closes around my ankle, and I screw my eyes shut as I kick him in the face.
He yelps, releasing me as his hand covers his bleeding nose.
Those cold eyes trail to me, and a shiver wracks my spine at the fury I see in them.
“You’re going to fucking regret this one day, Rosalie. You’re nothing without me!”
His words cut deep, digging into the cavity of my self-confidence and picking at the already tattered fragments like a vulture. It hurts to hear the bitter resentment my father harbors towards me, but I know it would hurt even worse to stay.
I can’t, or he’ll kill me.
I head out into the humid summer night, clamping my hands over my ears as my father screams at me to come back. With every step, his voice becomes a distant, haunting echo, ricocheting around my head until it’s all I can hear, even though he’s a mile behind me.
Those horrid words grip me in a tight fist, squeezing the breath from my very lungs as my tennis shoes slide along the asphalt.
You look so much like her, but not for long.
I’m doing this for your own good.
You’re nothing without me!
It’s a cacophony of hate and self-loathing that I can’t stop. Even as my shoulders curl forward with exhaustion, and the sticky blood is beginning to dry along my neck and the front of my t-shirt, I can’t quiet the noise in my head.
I’m utterly numb as I head into town. It’s late afternoon, and no one is out as I haunt this place like a ghost—a shell of a girl who once wasn’t so…broken.
I don’t know where I’m heading, but anywhere is better than here. It’s hard to escape the inside of my own head, and I’m so tired of trying.
I’m just…drained.
If I do pass anyone, I don’t notice as I stagger along. It gets harder to pick up my feet as the sun begins to set over the Mystic River. Nighttime beckons me, blanketing over my frame like a shroud as I near a neighborhood.
Seacrest.
The sign pops out, brightly illuminated by a street lamp.
Somewhere deep inside of me, I know this place, but I’ve never seen the perfect middle-class homes that line either side of the narrow path.
I turn down it, unsure of what I’m looking for, but unable to force myself to continue on the aimless trail I was originally following.
As I pass picture-perfect stucco homes with clear signs of life—toys scattering the drive, and pretty playhouses that look used and appreciated—my eyes scan along the mailboxes.
I don’t know why the numbers are so significant, but as I get to one that reads 235, I stop.
The number calls to me, and I’m walking up the occupied driveway before I can question myself.
The home is a dull beige, its smooth stucco exterior complemented by a dark, sloping roof. A large window beside the grand double front doors glows softly from within, the dim lights casting a warm glow and an unspoken sign that whoever lives here is home.
I pass a massive black truck in the driveway, only faintly aware of the smaller white car that sits idle beside it as I take the stone path leading to the front doors. I step onto a well-used welcome mat before lifting a fist and knocking lightly.
Realistically, I don’t know what I’m doing.
If I were in my right mind, I probably wouldn’t be standing on someone’s front door step, asking for entry.
But as my body sways forward, and I hear hushed voices from the other side, I can’t even process the potential stranger danger.
It’s a foreign concept to me when it’s the least of my worries right now.
The door opens, and soft light bathes me. My eyes squint as the familiar brunette hair sparks recognition. “Charlie?” My voice sounds distant and faint to my own ears.
I register the panic on my best friend’s face as she shouts over her shoulder for someone to help. I can hear footsteps rushing in the direction of us, but as my knees give out and I go weak, I shut down as my friend catches me, and everything goes dark.