Page 14 of I’m The Worst

I exhale slowly, trying to force my pulse to slow.

Every time I wake up, I find myself moved from under the bed. I don’t remember crawling out. Sitting up, my head swims. The IV is gone, just a small bandage covering the puncture wound. My arms shake as I push off the mattress, my legs wobbling as I stumble toward the bathroom.

The faucet rattles under my grip. Water rushes into my cupped hands, and I gulp it down, the cold liquid soothing my raw throat. But the ache in my stomach doesn’t ease. It twists deep inside me.

I slam my palm against the counter to stay upright.

My hands won’t stop shaking.

I look up.

The mirror doesn’t recognize me.

My cheeks are hollow. Eyes sunken. Skin gray and slick with sweat. I look like something dragged out of a ditch. Not a girl. Not a daughter. Just a body that’s been broken too many times.

With a wince, my fingers drift to the yellowing bruises on my neck. The skin is still tender where the collar bit into me.

That’s when I notice the collar is gone.

So why does it still feel there?

Another cold sweat breaks out across my back. My heart starts racing all over again. Hands trembling even worse. My legs feel like they’re filled with sand and electricity at the same time.

My stomach churns.

I don’t make it to the toilet.

I drop to my knees and dry heave, my body convulsing, throat burning, nothing coming up except spit and bile.

It doesn’t stop.

My skin feels too tight. My bones feel too big. I want to vacate my body. Peel the panic away.

I need something.

Something to slow my heart.

Something to quiet the noise in my head.

Something to make this stop.

Because the pain isn’t just in my body.

It’s everywhere.

I push to my feet and stumble back into the bedroom. My eyes land on a duffel bag sitting on the dresser, and I don’t hesitate digging through its contents. There has to be something, anything, to take the edge off.

“What are you doing?”

I jump, gasping.

Before I can react, he reaches past me and rips the bag from my hands. He flings it across the room. It slams into the wall with a heavy thud.

“Hey!” I snap, spinning toward him.

“You’re not going to find what you’re looking for.”

I glare at him. “What the hell does that mean?”