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I’m wholly unprepared to be here, in desperate need of a shower and no clean clothes to wear. I’m standing in the middle of his room, taking in the unmade bed as I scrape a fingernail over a patch of dried blood on my forearm.
I feel as if I’m wasting time, but I have nothing else to do other than rest and recuperate. I’ve lived my life this way, rushing from one thing to the next because slowing down allows the pain, grief, and regret to settle inside of me.
I attempt to hold my head higher, the mantra fake it until I make it an echo in my mind as I walk to the dresser and pull out a soft t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. I know they’re going to be too big, but I have no other choice. I can’t leave the room and ask Sawyer to take me to a hotel completely naked.
The warm water of the shower helps soothe sore muscles but it also stings the small cuts on my face and hands. I did my best to avoid looking at myself in the mirror, but the tiny glances I did get make me want to hide away for a month until I’m fully healed. I won’t, however. Even with Dixon dead and unable to witness my strength, I’d never give him the posthumous satisfaction of cowering in fear.
The shower ends sooner than I’d really like but my exhaustion forces me to make it quick and economical rather than luxuriating in the way the pounding water on my back releases some of the tension in my muscles. If there were a tub in this room, I’d no doubt sink into it and stay until the water turned too cold to withstand.
I pull a folded towel from the small cabinet and dry off. My skin feels too tight, like I stayed in the sun too long without proper hydration. I dress quickly, knowing the lock on the door only holds so much protection, and my hands shake, remembering Dixon being in my house the entire time I took my last shower.
As I suspected, the clothes are much too loose. I eye the door, knowing what I should do, but the bed is too inviting. I hold onto the waistband of the lounge pants as I climb up on the mattress, feeling both out of place and relieved as my head settles on the pillow. I thought about this bed more than once after leaving Sawyer’s room days ago. I wasn’t beaten and bruised in those fantasies, however.
I pull the blanket up to my chin, the cool sheets seeming to take an eternity to warm up enough that the shivering stops, but even after five minutes, I’m finding no relief. Closing my eyes is torture, a violent mix of what happened to me tonight, and reliving the details Dixon spoke of about my sister.
I have a mind to go ask Brynn for some form of sedation, but not being in control of myself isn’t a position I ever want to be in again.
I climb out of bed because even with as tired as I am, I know there’s no chance of me falling asleep. I feel ridiculous leaving the room in the rubber-bottomed socks I was provided at the hospital but there’s no chance Sawyer would have a pair of shoes that would fit me.
The hallway is silent when I pull the door open, but as I walk down the hallway, the sound of the television and low murmuring meets my ears. Sawyer is on one of the couches, nodding as the guy I know as Stormy speaks with him. They both stand when they notice me, but neither make a move to walk closer.
“Did you need something?” Sawyer asks.
I nod, swallowing in shame when I see Stormy taking inventory of the wounds on my face. I hate that he’s looking at me with sympathy. I don’t want to be viewed as a victim.
“I’d like you to take me to a hotel please.”
Stormy’s eyes widen as if he knows my request will be shutdown.
“Do you want a beer?” Sawyer asks rather than making a move to fulfill my request.
I attempt to narrow my eyes at him, but pain shoots through my head. “It’s four o’clock in the morning, and I have a concussion.”
“We have a team that’s going to get your house cleaned up as soon as the police release it,” Stormy says, giving me a small smile.
“Thank you,” I tell him but don’t voice the fact that I don’t know if I could ever go back there again.
Not even taking into consideration that the house was still a shrine to my sister and deceased parents, Dixon was inside of it, curled up and hiding in a damn quilt locker for over an hour before he made his move to attack me. There’s no chance I’d ever feel safe there again. It’s filled with nothing but death and fear.
