With a choked cry, I turn and toss the stupid thing into the toilet.
I have hundreds of unread texts from my family, and hundreds more missed calls. Nine out of ten of them are from Graham, and each time he calls, he adds another brick to the wall officially locking me into a room inside my brain.
I’m a little girl again, screaming to be let out, sobbing to be freed from his torment.
I flush the toilet, and when the black cell stays in the bottom of the bowl, I flush again. I flush a third time, then a fourth. The cistern has no time to refill, so the flushes become nothing more than a trickle, but my tears flow like a river.
Angrily, I reach out for the toilet brush and bat at the now silent cell. I push it into the bowl and shove it back until it’s out of sight. I flush again, then again, then again.
I cry out with frustration when it slides back into view, and screaming, I pick up the toilet lid and slam it down over the seat until both shatter.
Shards of porcelain snap off and bite at my legs and arms, and yet, the cell remains in view, taunting me.
I drag in a deep breath and swipe at my eyes to clear the blinding tears, then I turn to the shower and flip the taps on. I push Luc’s sweatpants down one handed and tug my tank top off and throw it to the floor. Tears flow over my cheeks as I step into the boiling spray in my sports bra and panties.
My long blonde hair, hair that tickles my elbows when worn down, now flops limply in a messy bun that hasn’t been touched in a week.
Atruemessy bun. Not the stylish kind that all the pretty girls wear, but the kind that’s oily and gross and probably won’t come down without cutting the elastic out. As the boiling water soaks my hair and stings my chest, my tears come heavier, washing away my sins; one layer of skin at a time. I feel cold. So unbelievably fucking cold, and yet, the water burns me.
My hands shake, and the silver blade in my right hand clatters against my flat stomach.
I don’t want this anymore.
I can’t make the nightmares go away.
I can’t look into the eyes of those that used to love me; they feel sorry for me, they wonder how I could be so stupid. They wonder where the brave Laine has gone, and how I let myself become this person.
I can’t stand under the weight of their sadness. I can’t handle their disappointment or the crushing guilt that Jess and I share a connection so deep, she feels the poison I feel.
She’s better than that.
The choices I made were mine alone, and she doesn’t deserve to taste the black sludge that swirls in our blood.
Without me here, she’ll be set free. I’m an anvil, and she’s a balloon. She needs to fly, and her boyfriend will help her.
I once read a story of a husband and wife drowning in the sea. The coast guard had arrived to help, and though they tried to save the woman, the husband was stuck in survival mode. He kept clawing at his wife so he could stay afloat.
He was just trying to survive. It’s the most basic instinct we all have. He was just trying to live, but in doing so, he was dragging down the one person he swore his life and protection to.
He was drowning her…
And I’m drowning Jess. I’m drowning my entire family.
Pressing my back against the steam warmed tiles, I slide down onto my butt and clutch at the paring knife in my hand.
My teeth chatter, but my chest moves sluggishly. My breath comes both fast and slow, resulting in dizziness that makes me sick to my stomach.
Just do it, Laine.
Just do it.
I lift the short blade and stare at myself in its glinting reflection. Blonde hair that’s still blonde, even soaking wet. Big blue eyes that are mostly red now. Swollen and sad.
I don’t remember the last time my eyes didn’t look like this.
The heavy splashes of the shower echo in the ten by ten bathroom, reminding me that no one else is here. I suck in a deep breath as my loneliness almost cripples me.
I came into this world with my twin sister right there beside me. She was eleven minutes ahead, paving the way and watching for danger. But now I’m alone. I’ll die alone. I’ll die in boiling water with chattering teeth from the cold.