Jenny, I hate you for leaving me. I hate you, but even hating you doesn’t make the pain stop. I still love you and I don’t think love can exist without hope.
It’s funny how I cling to something that’s not there. That I have faith that I’ll see her again in another life. Or that if I somehow bring her justice, she’ll know. That it will mean something to her, even if she’s not here.
Settling back into the pillow, I lie there tired and feeling like I’m drowning. I start to think that it’s okay to drown, that I shouldn’t fight it anymore. I’m scared of what will happen when I stop fighting though. What happens when I sink lower and lower into the cold darkness?
That’s the imagery that meets me in my sleep.
Jenny
It’s almost been a month. Every day drags, achingly slowly. Every second wanting me to suffer more and more. It’s worse than what I thought it would be. The nausea and shaking. I can’t get over how cold I am all the time here.
There’s nothing but cinder block walls and a mattress on the floor. If I could think for a moment, I’d remember where I am, but I don’t remember. I can barely stand up without vomiting.
My bare knees scrape on the floor as I brace myself. The floor feels damp at first, like it’s wet, but the palms of my hands are dry. Rocking my body back and forth, I try to just breathe through the aching pain, the sweating, the constant moving thoughts that only stay still when I see her. That’s the only time everything settles, but it falls into the darkness where I hate myself for what I’ve done and what I’ve become.
The rumbling happens again, the gentle shaking of the light above my head. I’m not crazy. It’s real. The room shakes every so often.
He told me I could sleep through it. Weeks of sleeping while my body goes through withdrawal. He said he’d take care of me, that I had a purpose in this world.
He said he’d help me. Marcus can’t help me through this though. No one can help me. No one can save me from where my mind goes when I lie down.
I can’t sleep anymore. Bethany’s there every time I close my eyes and I feel sicker and full of guilt. I can’t sleep through this, knowing what I did to her. What I sacrificed to be here.
“It’ll all be worth it.”
My eyes whip up to his when I hear his voice. “It hurts,” is all I can say and I feel pathetic. Hurts isn’t adequate. “I feel like I’m dying.” The sentence is pulled from me, slowly, as it drags too. Everything drags so slowly.
“A part of you is dying.” His voice holds no emotion, no remorse, no sympathy. It’s only matter of fact. “And that’s a good thing.”
My head nods although I don’t know that I agree. Some moments I do. Some moments I just want it to end. I know what would make it all stop; I know a needle would make it go away. I nearly beg for it, but the last time I did, he left me alone in here. “I thought it would only be weeks,” I tell him, gripping on to that thread of a thought.
“It has only been weeks.”
Shaking my head violently and then hating the spinning that comes after, I grip the sides of my head and rock again, trying to settle.
His voice carries softly to me, as if it’s rocking me as well, “It’s been close to a month. It’s almost over. Just sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep!” I scream at him, the words clawing up my throat and scarring the tender flesh on their way out.
“Then don’t.” His answer is simple. In the dark corner of the room, he sits and watches. That’s what he does. He observes. That’s not what Beth would do. Licking the cracked skin on my bottom lip, I remember how she always had to be there, always involved, always telling me what I was doing wrong.
I wish I’d listened to her.
My rocking turns gentle just thinking about her.
“You said you’d tell her I was okay.”
“I said I’ll make sure she finds out.” He corrects me sharply.
“Did she see it? The note Jeremy left for her?” His gaze meets mine when I say the name, we’re not supposed to say each other’s names. I know it’s Jeremy though. He came in here to check on me the first few days. It had to be him because of the bandage on his chin.
Jeremy told me what Marcus did to his chin though. He said it was necessary and that’s how I know it was him in the video Marcus showed me.
Jeremy’s scar is not nearly as bad of a fate as what Luke would endure. Marcus said he deserved it. That it was meant to happen and to only tell him certain things. I listened; I was a good girl, but I regret it all right now. I want it all to stop. “Please,” I whimper, “make it stop.”