Thereâs so much pain when I wake up, I feel sick. Literally sick to my stomach as I roll onto the wrong side, my left side, and a screaming pain shoots down my back and then travels up the front of me.
Seething through my clenched teeth, my eyes open wide as I bolt awake in the late morning and I struggle not to vomit.
I wish I could say I was drunk when I lost my shit last night. Thatâs exactly what I did. I have lost all composure when it comes to this man.
It takes me a long time, longer than it should, to realize Iâm alone in the bedroom. I expected to see him on the chair watching me, or in bed. Iâm not sure why I expected it. I shouldnât have. Heâs never here in the morning. But weâve never been like this before. So broken and each of us hurting the other.
We arenât throwing stones; weâre tipping boulders over a steep cliff while the other lies helplessly in the dirt below.
I chose him. I wanted to be with him, and heâs choosing to make me feel so fucking alone. The thin top sheet gathers in my hands as fists form and I struggle to hold back the pain from everything.
Waking up alone hurts more than it ever has before. I donât want to be alone anymore. I donât want to be hurting. I donât want to be the cause of Carterâs pain either. And I think thatâs all Iâll ever be. After last night, I donât know how I could ever be anything but a painful reminder to him.
Cradling my sore shoulder, I sit up on the bed and let my legs hang off the side as I test out my arm. It hurts like a bitch, but itâs my own damn fault. The deep gouges in my wrist are worse though.
The floorâs cold under my bare feet as I make my way to the bathroom in search of more painkillers and something I can use to clean the cuts. I donât find either, but I get ready, thinking about the bathroom located off the foyer. I bet thereâs some in there.
All the while I brush my teeth, I stare at myself in the mirror. As I brush my hair, my reflection does the same, watching the woman I am. Thereâs not an ounce of happiness. Thereâs nothing but darkness.
I read in some article a while back, that pets start to look like their owners because they learn to mimic their facial expressions. Itâs the same with adopted children resembling parents who arenât biological. The more time spent with someone, the more you inherit their features.
And as I stare at myself, all I see is the darkness that is Carter. The brewing pain deep inside. It inhabits me in a way I hadnât seen before.
The room is silent as I turn off the water and carefully set my brush on the granite counter.
None of this belongs to me. None of it is mine.
Every piece was a gift, comfort items meant to placate me. With a step back, itâs hard to swallow. With a peek up in the mirror, itâs hard to withstand the sight.
Itâs never been more clear to me that I need to leave than in this moment. Carter Cross is a drug Iâll never kick. A drug thatâs seeped into my veins and wrapped its way around every small piece of me.
Iâm addicted to what he does to me and heâll just continue to hurt me. He knows how much he hurts me, as do I, and yet here I am.
When I turn my back, it feels like someone else is there, someone behind me. The girl in the mirror maybe. Sheâs watching me and it sends pricks down my neck as I slowly leave the bathroom, too cold and disturbed to dare shut the door.
Even as I dress, slowly and with a searing burn every time I have to move my left shoulder, I stare at the bathroom as if somewhere deep inside, a part of me is waiting for a person to leave it.
I canât shake this feeling. Not until I leave the bedroom. At least for a moment.
It feels too empty as I walk alone to the foyer bathroom. Iâm hollow inside with the wretched truth so clear in my mind.
Leaving someone who hurts you shouldnât feel like this. Like youâre losing a part of your soul. As if inside, thereâs a fissure thatâs expanding, and as it does, itâs damaging whatever it is that makes a person alive. Whatever makes me feel is being scarred with every step I take.
Because the closer I get to the front door, the more I want to leave and never look back.
I could never, even for a second, look behind. I can already imagine his face and the way heâd look at me if I left him.
I can feel his pain.
As I round the corner, Iâm careful to contain my emotions so I donât break down again.
With a quick intake of air, I stiffen the moment I look ahead of me, straight at the open bathroom door.
Even my heart stills, not wanting me to be heard or seen.
Addison doesnât see me as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. Sheâs in her head, I know she is. I can practically see the wheels spinning as she walks down the right hall, past the bathroom.
Itâs only when sheâs out of sight that I even dare breathe.
I still donât move though. My limbs donât allow it.
How did I let my life come to this? Where Iâm afraid to see the only friend Iâm able to interact with because ⦠because why? Because Iâm ashamed, and scared, and miserable with who I am and the choices Iâve made, and I canât tell her any of that⦠because sheâs on the side of the enemy.
That fissure deep inside of me, the one destroying everything in its path, rips me wide fucking open as I walk as quietly as I can to the small half bath and close the door.
The click sounds like the loudest thing Iâve ever heard as I sit down on the toilet and cover my face with my hands.
I feel hot and immediately I have the urge again to vomit as I reach up and my shoulder sends a bolt of pain down my back. Fuck!
I bite down on the inside of my cheek so hard, I can taste the metallic tang of blood. It was worth it not to scream though. Still, I want to scream so badly. I want to get all of this out of me.
Iâm stronger than this, but it feels like thereâs something inside of me thatâs falling apart in a way where I know it will never be whole again.
Thereâs a line in one of my favorite stories from Alice in Wonderland, that goes something to the effect of, thereâs no use to going back to yesterday, youâre a different person than you were then.
I hate that line now. I used to love it. I could have lived by that sentiment, feeling purposeful and fulfilled. Right now? The very idea of that quote forces me to jump off the toilet seat so I can hurl what little I have inside of me into the bowl.
Itâs fucking disgusting. The taste, the smell, the burning feeling. And when Iâm done, while Iâm washing my mouth out with the running water, I donât feel any better at all.
Deep breaths get me through cleaning it all up. Itâs when Iâm searching under the sink for a new hand towel to replace the one I used to wipe my mouth that I see the box of pregnancy tests.
Addison.
âOh my god.â The words leave me in a whisper and for the first time this morning I smile. Itâs only a hint of one, but now I have a light thatâs growing, if dim. Sheâs pregnant. I fall down on my ass and lean against the wall as I hold the box of pregnancy tests and wonder what sheâs feeling and thinking. Sheâs going to have a baby. And what a wonderful mother sheâll be. I know she will.
The light inside of me is quick to fade though as I realize she didnât tell me. But maybe thereâs nothing to tell. The thick wrapper on the test I pull out crinkles in my hand and I think back to my last period⦠before all of this started.
The days have faded and with the shot Carter gave me, I never considered any other reason for not getting my period.
Iâm constantly tired, irritated and emotional, and now sick. Sick to my stomach. But sick and tired would also describe anyone in my situation. Still, a heated wave of anxiousness rolls through me until I move to take the test.
Tick.
Tick.
Time passes and my thoughts run wild.
Tick.
Tick.
Time passes as the turmoil and sickness subside, leaving a dust to settle and a clear picture to form.
Tick.
Tick.
I donât know how long I sit there holding the box.
Or how long I wonder if itâs worthless. If all of this is worthless.
I donât need a friend. I donât need someone to love me either.
I need to get the fuck out of here.