She’d done it. Somehow, she’d made it so I didn’t have to lay eyes on him. I heard it, though. The moment she’d spoken to him. I’d heard the shouts, the curses, the smashing of some unknown furniture.
I heard it all and felt it all. Just more wounds to add to my bleeding soul.
I was selfish, I knew that. And possibly cruel for not seeing him.
But I was being cruel to be kind.
As much as the decision not to see his face was for me, it was also for him. He needed to be as far away from me as possible. I seemed to be like some contagious disease. Get close to me and you’re tainted with my affliction. I fucked up every life I came into contact with.
I didn’t miss the fact there was always a Harley outside Lily’s house. Lily and Asher’s house. That’s where they’d taken me after I had been treated in the clubhouse, not that I remembered.
I knew I had not been taken to a hospital. I was thankful for that. Being somewhere so sterile, so full of bright lights, where my filth would be magnified, might’ve made me go insane.
Present
“There,” Rosie proclaimed, standing back to inspect her work. “Beautiful.”
I highly doubted that, but I let myself be directed to the mirror above the dining table.
“Wow,” I said when I saw my reflection.
Despite the sallow, almost gray skin, sunken cheeks, and lifeless eyes, my hair looked good. It was slightly longer on top and she’d put some sort of goop in it to spike it up. It looked funky and edgy, reminding me of Pink.
“I know, you’re a knockout. Not many people can rock short hair,” she informed me with a grin.
“Let’s not go crazy. You’ve managed to make my hair look a lot less scary, and I thank you for that, but knockout I am not,” I replied, turning.
Rosie frowned at me, her hazel eyes hardening. “We can agree to disagree there,” she said sharply.
I rolled my eyes, unable to muster the energy to fight with her. It was impossible. I was saved from any further conversation on this particular topic with a knock on the door.
“I’ll get it,” Rosie declared.
As if there was a question. Since I got back I didn’t do things like answer the door.
Or leave the house.
I wanted to. I didn’t want to become a hermit and stew in my own misery. That was just fucking depressing.
But the one time I’d tried to leave the house, my foot had hovered over the threshold, my lungs seizing up as the sunlight hit my face. Every single molecule of air in my chest had been stolen and I’d been sure that was how I was going to go. Suffocating on the doorstep.
There were worse ways to die. I’d survived them.
Unfortunately.
Lily had been there and had been able to convince me I wasn’t, in fact, dying, just suffering from a panic attack.
She had enough experience with them to talk to me in soft tones and let me know that I wasn’t alone and this wasn’t permanent.
It helped, a lot. I also had a renewed respect for my best friend. She struggled with that every day and still managed to function, to live?
I’d known I couldn’t escape the events of those three weeks unscathed, nightmares and constant itching beneath my skin evidence of that. But I hadn’t realized the depth of the terror that would clutch me in its blackened grip.
How it would sequester me indoors for a fucking week, watching grim documentaries which failed to scare me.
I didn’t think anything would scare me now.
I didn’t answer the door either, because he’d taken to knocking on it.
Every day.
Rosie got rid of him. Or Lily did.
Every day.
So I was staying far, far away from that door and the multitude of terrors it held at bay.
Because that’s what I was most afraid of. Seeing him. What he’d turned into because of me. Seeing myself reflected in his eyes. My true self. It would be more confronting than any reflective surface. I so wasn’t ready for that.
I was planning on avoiding him until I was ready. So, until the end of time.
“Wow, Bex, your hair. It looks… amazing,” Lily said, her eyes widening as she walked into the room.
Rosie followed her. “Yes, it’s my genius. I’m the Leonardo Da Vinci of hair.”
Lily grinned at Rosie. It didn’t reach her eyes. Didn’t convince me. That killed me. The haunted gaze poorly hidden behind a crooked smile.
She reached forward and squeezed my hand. “You look good, better,” she lied. She quickly released my hand, knowing how I felt about human contact these days.
Avoided it all cost.
I rubbed my hands on my leggings. They felt even dirtier after Lily touched them. “I am,” I lied back. “Feeling great.”
She gave me a sad smile and started unpacking snacks from her bag. “What are we watching today?”