I wake up breathless,clutching my neck where the knife was embedded in Still’s. I can almost feel the searing pain of the blade within my flesh. I pant as hard as the man who died in my arms.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I knew and expected the nightmares to take hold any time I did. I look at the clock. It’s nearly dinnertime. How the fuck did that happen? I should feel restored and rejuvenated, but it only gives me enough energy to murder my liver all over again.
It doesn’t need to be five o’clock for me to drink. It’s five o’clock all day.
I peel myself away from the beige couch. The cushions are moist with my sweat. My shirt sticks to my back. I pull it off, and a shiver rises through me when the cool air hits my skin. The bathroom welcomes me as I turn on the shower and let the steam fill the room. I know I can’t wash the memories down the drain, but I can sure as shit try.
The scalding water reddens my pale skin, assaulting my flesh with hot droplets. I don’t have the energy to wash my body, so I let the water rain down on me until the temperature grows too cold.
Once I step out of the shower, I wipe away the steam on the mirror with my arm and stare at my reflection—one I always recognize with hatred. The person looking back at me is the one who nearly killed her. I remembered none of it—not even once I came to—but I’m still that person, whether I know him or not.
I hurl my fist into the mirror, shattering it like my heart. Glass rains onto the countertop and gathers in the sink in thick shards. I stare at the fragments of my reflection, noting that it now feels more like me.
This is who I am.