Page 40 of Fighting for His Life

Even as I stared at my reflection every day, I haven’t been able to look into my own eyes. I’ve been afraid to see what is staring back at me.

I open my bag and pull out the drugs that I use to keep the monsters away and to erase the moments when I let someone use my body. I pour the contact onto the counter and carefully make my line. I snort the line into my nose. I pray the effects come fast. Tonight, the monsters feel especially terrifying.

I stand hunched over the counter. I just want it to stop. I want the shame to go away. I want the fear to stop. I want to be normal again.

I look, for the first time in a very long time, into my eyes. The brown contacts covering my normally ice blue eyes don’t disguise a thing. I hate what I’m seeing. I hate the person I see staring back at me.

Why won’t it just fucking stop? Why can’t I stop feeling his filthy hands on my body? Why can’t I stop seeing his disgusting blue eyes? Why do I still hear his voice in the darkness?

I just want it to stop.

I pour the rest of the white powder onto the counter. I stare at it wondering why it’s not working tonight. I wonder why its effects have been doing less and less to numb the pain lately.

I absently sort the powder into several more lines. Then push them together making larger lines before sorting them again into smaller lines.

I need it to stop.

I inhale another line. Then another. Then another.

I feel the effects almost instantly. I appreciate the euphoric, relaxed feeling until I meet my eyes again in the mirror.

I hate her. I hate that she put this poison into her body. I hate that she was attacked. I hate that she was too fucking weak to protect her baby. I hate that she was too cowardly to face the people most important to her. I hate that she let them suffer and worry in the name of saving them.

What a fucking load of shit. It was never to protect them. I wasn’t saving them from anything. I just didn’t want to face them.

I close my eyes. I hate closing my eyes. Every time I do, it is like it’s happening all over again. Every time I give my body to a man, I hope it gives me some form of control, but the only control it gives me is knowing that I initiated it and I can stop it. It still makes me feel dirty.

My heart begins to race. My breathing becomes erratic. Screaming, I punch the face in the mirror causing it to crack. Then I punch it again and again until the shards are lying over the counter and the floor.

I pick up a jagged piece turning it over and over. I can hear Maddox knocking on the door of my bedroom asking if I’m okay.

I’m not. I just want it to stop. I need the pain to go away.

I slide the shard over my wrist. Lightly at first, testing its sharpness. Blood pools around a small, shallow cut. I stare at it, almost surprised there’s any at all with how cold and dead my heart feels. It’s just a reminder of why the pain won’t stop.

It has to stop.

I listen to Maddox now beating angrily on the door demanding I open the door as I dig the glass in deeper into my skin. The physical pain is a welcome reprieve from the mental and emotional anguish. I dig even deep, dragging it slowly down the inside of my arm from elbow to wrist.

I slide to the floor taking my phone with me. I trace the face on the screen as a sob escapes me. This is why I had to run. I never wanted him to see me this way. Completely broken and defeated. I’m not even a shell of my former self.

I open my message app and type in his name. This will be over soon. I won’t hurt anymore, but I have to let him know that I didn’t stop loving him. I have to let him know it’s not his fault.

Me: You’ve always been my everything. I never wanted to hurt you or let you down. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to handle the pain. I’m sorry I pushed you away.

Me: I’m glad you’ve found someone. She sounds beautiful.

Me: I hope you are happy. I hope she loves you like you deserve to be loved.

Me: Thank you for loving me for so long. I love you, and I’m sorry. Please don’t ever blame yourself. It’s not your fault I’m weak. I just want it to stop hurting.

Blood is now flowing freely from the deep wound I have made. With every pump of my heart, the pain seems to ebb. It’s freeing and welcome.

I embrace the darkness.

Jax

I roll out of the bed to dispose of the condom feeling betrayal on my skin like I do every time. I don’t even look in the mirror. I can’t stand the bastard looking back at me.

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