I must’ve had another nightmare, but I don’t remember it. I never do, which I guess is its own kind of blessing, but the aftertaste always lingers.
I can feel it already — today is going to be hell. Another cage match with my own fucked-up head.
It’s been nearly a week since I got out of the hospital, and I haven’t left Ria’s place once. My body was too wrecked, forcing me to fight for every breath. But I’ve been better lately.
Ria closed the shop this week. She’s been here every day, flitting around like some maniac little guardian angel. I want to call her my friend. I want to believe I deserve that.
This morning, though, I can feel the mental strength I clawed back over the last few days slipping away from me. All those poison-laced questions are alive inside my head again, whipping my brain. Feral. Hungry. They know where to hit, where I’m weak.
Ghost said he lied, but did he? Or was that just the truth crawling out, stripped of sugar, bleeding from his mouth? Did his rage just rip away the mask?
The snake tattoo spanning his ribs flashes before my eyes. It’s so different from any other tattoo he has, and I know that’s how he sees me — a snake who ripped him apart.
Fuck, I hate this. I hate that itmatters. Hate that I care. But my mind’s never been my ally. My mother made sure of that. She carved her voice into it long before I ever knew what love was supposed to feel like.
And now his voice is there too, haunting me, dripping poison into every open wound.
Was he right?Is that why no one ever fucking cared? Did he ever love me at all, even when we were kids? Or was I just the easy mark? The desperate girl with too much hope and no armor, looking for someone to accept her?
Why did he even come to the hospital? Just to see if he could keep playing his game? To twist the knife? To see if I still squirmed when he said jump? To see how much more pathetic I could get?
He truly wanted me dead… In that moment, with the gun to my head, he wanted me gone. I saw it in his eyes. He didn’t even have to say all those things, that look was the kill shot.
I may not be dead, but something inside me died that day. I didn’t realize how much I was still hoping, still dreaming of a life with him. How deeply I craved love.Hislove.
I hate myself for how much I wanted him and how easily I fell.How? How was I so stupidly naive to think he could ever feel the same?
But can I even blame him? He saw his chance at revenge and took it. I was the fool, smiling through the lies, clinging to hope.
If he was going to destroy me, I wish he would’ve done it fast. I wish he had just drowned me in that tub the day he took me, not play this long game. Not make it hurt this much.
The tears are already burning when a knock breaks through the shadows.
“Princess,” Ria sings on the other side of the door, way too cheerful for how dark the inside of my skull feels. “Coffee’s ready! And I have plans for you today! Up, Sleeping Beauty, up! Adventure awaits!”
I sigh, dragging myself upright and squeezing my eyes shut for a long second, trying to bury all those painful thoughts.
My phone blinks at me from the nightstand. Noon. Not morning. Damn.
Muted calls. Muted messages. Ghost has been trying to reach me nonstop. But I made sure nothing gets through. He doesn’t know he’s on mute, and that’s the point. He’d know if he was blocked but this way, he’s just talking into the void.
Ria meets me in the kitchen, already handing over a mug of what has officially become the second-best coffee I’ve ever had.
I try not to think about the first. The man. The espresso machine. The feelings that once came with both.
“So,” she starts, way too casually, “the nasty thoughts are back, aren’t they?” She’s completely unbothered. Like she already knows the answer and she’s just waiting for me to confirm it.
I blink at her over the rim of my cup, startled. “How did you know?”
She just smiles, soft and understanding. “My mom was like you. She fought her mind every single day. I learned to read the signs early on. To know if it was going to be a good day or a bad one.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I whisper.
She waves it off. “Don’t be. It’s in the past. Anyway,” she leans in, tapping her mug to mine, “I think your body needs to move. It could be a good way to get your mind out of the darkness. Let it take a break from chewing you alive.”
She narrows her eyes at me. She’s about to issue a challenge. “How do you feel about running?”
I blink. “I tried it a few times. After the divorce, when I finally had control over my life. It felt good, but then survival took over and I forgot all about running.”
