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“Okay,” I finally say. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to push her. Especially not here in the open. I grab a napkin and scribble my number down on it, pushing it over to her when I’m done. “Call me if you want to talk. If you know anything, you could really help me out.”
Avalon just nods. She still seems so small and scared, hunched over the table and her plate like she’s worried someone might take it from her. Might take everything from her.
Fuck. I know how that feels.
I put money down on the table to cover everything and then head for the door.
I don’t really remember the walk back to my car, and it feels like I blink and then suddenly end up behind the wheel. My hands are shaking a little, and I squeeze the steering wheel, trying to get them to stop.
That visceral reminder of my sister fucked me up. I keep seeing her in my mind, that same scared look on her face, that same hunched posture and wide-eyed, terrified expression. Most people seem smaller when they’re scared, and there are some fuckers out there that prey on that.
Thinking about it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, and I start the car, hoping I can keep it together long enough to get back to the house.
I manage it, driving in a daze and gripping the wheel so hard my hands hurt. When I finally reach the now-familiar house, I park and let myself in. The house is dark and quiet since it’s so late, and I’m glad I don’t have to talk to anyone. I just go up to my room and strip down, heading for the bathroom and the shower.
My head is full of memories that I don’t want. The things I try to ignore and avoid every day. Hannah crying, shaking with fear and scrambling back away from one of the men who’s getting off on tormenting her. The way she would sob my name when she was hurting, and the feeling of anger and fear and helplessness that always rose up in me when I realized there was nothing I could do to help her.
There’s so much of this shit inside me, and it usually drives me. It manifests as anger and determination. Motivation to wipe each and every one of those fucking bastards out of existence. But tonight, it’s harder.
I scrub my skin raw, standing under the spray and wishing that the water and body wash could wash away all the awful memories that won’t stop clinging to me.
It doesn’t work.
My head is too full. At this point, this shit is a part of me, and it feels like it’s never going away. That ache in my chest is still there. It feels like shards of glass trying to claw their way out of me, and I stand under the spray until the water goes cold, trying to find some relief.
My knees start to shake harder and harder, and I sink down to the floor of the shower, tucking myself into the corner like Hannah would, like Avalon did in the diner. I wrap my arms around my legs, drawing them in tight to my chest as I try to hold myself together.
But I can’t.
I’m just pieces.
Too many pieces.
Like I might blow away in the wind.
