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I’m still emotional when I walk into the kitchen, looking for something to do with my hands. I need a distraction, so I rifle through the fridge, pulling out ingredients for dinner. As I retrieve the cutting board and begin my prep, I wonder where Madden is. He hasn’t left for this long before, and he seemed on edge today.
I consider that he’s down at the police station, ready to turn me over and wash his hands of me. It’s a dark thought, but one I have to consider. After my conversation with Gypsy, a part of me knows it’s inevitable. But I also know it will crush me if I’m not the one who decides first.
Stuffing those thoughts down and locking them away, I focus on the music, humming along to the songs as I wash and dry the produce and grab a knife from the block to start chopping.
I’m halfway through a pepper when another familiar song comes on. I must have heard it at some point because I recognize the melody. An overpowering sense of sadness holds me captive as I listen to the lyrics. This song brings up a weird feeling that lodges in my chest, and instead of chopping, I find myself paralyzed.
You say you love me, but you won’t leave
You say you need me, but you can’t breathe
I’m your cure, you’re my disease
Toxic lies, you’re killing me
I fucking hate you, but you can’t see
Only death will set me free
Give me poison, watch me drink
You’re my addiction, watch me sink
Into the black, I’ll fade away
You’ll go on, live another day
Peace will find me when I’m gone
You’ll go back where you belong
A sick feeling washes over me when I realize this song is about her. Or me, if you’re asking Madden. And this isn’t a love song. It’s a hate song. It was right there in the lyrics. He saw her as poison, and he sees me as poison too. That’s what he told me once.
Pressure builds behind my eyes, and the knife slips through my fingers, slicing one open before it clatters onto the counter. I hiss in pain, bringing my hand up to examine it. When blood drips from the cut, a wave of nausea rolls over me. In a panic, I wipe it on the kitchen towel, trying to smear it away. It doesn’t work, and before I can stop it, my vision narrows to a pinpoint. A second later, my knees give out, and I collapse onto the floor, banging my head against the tile.
Flickers of darkness and light flash beneath my eyelids as I hover somewhere between a dream and reality. I cling to consciousness, trying to grab it with both hands to pull me back, but my mind drags forth a reel of time and space so tangible I can almost touch it.
Blood soaks into my tee shirt, a scream piercing my lungs as I try to wipe it away. I’m on the verge of puking, and it only gets worse as that crimson stain pollutes everything around me. It gushes beneath my feet like a river, an endless current of red. I try to stop it, but nothing works. It’s coming from every direction I look, turning the floor and the walls around me an ugly, horrifying red.
“Bianca, look at me.” Madden’s concerned voice pierces through the darkness as his warm fingers graze my cheek. I lean into that touch, desperate for his sanctuary.
When he pulls me upright and tugs me onto his lap in the middle of the kitchen floor, I open my eyes. And then I burst into tears.
“What happened?” His palm cradles the back of my head as he shifts me closer, the heat of his body penetrating mine.
“Madden.” I cling to him as big, fat tears roll down my face.
“Hey.” He drags his fingers over my jaw, tipping my chin so our eyes meet. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I nod, but the tears don’t stop. They keep coming between shuddered gasps while he strokes my back and tries to calm me. I’ve never felt so fragile, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I feel like I’m really losing my mind, and it’s horrifying.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I blurt out as I fall to pieces in his arms.
“Look at me.” Madden’s voice is calm but commanding as he smooths my hair back, gently coaxing my eyes open again. “Take a breath, peaches.”
I try and fail several times before I manage to draw in air.
“That’s good.” He wipes away my tears as he stares at me with a softness I’ve never seen in his eyes. “Just keep breathing.”
I do as he says, and his eyes never stray from mine while he continues to rub my back. It grounds me. There’s an undeniable intimacy at this moment as he stares down my vulnerability in its rawest form, and I let him. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I feel safe in his arms. I feel like he’s where I belong, and it scares me as much as it soothes me.
