I don’t feel his presence next to me and I’m thankful for that. I don’t think I can handle seeing him again so soon. Not after last night and not after he saw the way I disfigured my body. I’m too ashamed of it all to face him. I’m too raw from baring my soul to him like that. Seeing him right now will make me feel more out of control than I do. Then again, I haven’t been in control since I stepped foot in this town.
I don’t remember falling asleep on the drive from the hospital and now here I am, in his bed. I’ve wanted to see his domain since I moved in here but I knew he probably would have killed me if I had ever come in here.
My mind wonders to my mom and I wonder where she is, since she’s not bursting down the door yet. I’m thankful for that because she’d definitely chew me out for being irresponsible and messing up my life because of the drug habit I’ve picked up.
Speaking of which, I’m dying for a fix right now. I don’t feel normal without it anymore. She has no idea what I’m going through because her life has been perfect since we got to Riverside, while mine just kept going downhill.
I know she loves me but I just don’t feel like I can talk to her about everything that’s been going on in my life. I’m afraid she won’t understand or she might even tell me that it’s nothing. Parents don’t really consider heartbreak to be something detrimental to your mental health. I wish that was it but it’s so much more than that.
I let out a sigh before getting up and out of his bed and walk toward my room. I step inside and head straight for my bathroom. I know what I’m about to do and my mind is telling me that it’s wrong but I can’t seem to help myself.
I need the drug because it’s become my addiction.
I take the extra Percocet I bought from their hiding place and down two of them at once. I need them to function otherwise I’ll be more of a mess than I currently am. I can feel my body starting to shake from not having any. I need to make the shivers go away.
It’s a never-ending fight inside my head that my body loses every single time. I’m tired of fighting myself by trying to do the right thing when I want something else.
As soon as they make their way into my system, I can feel them working. I know it doesn’t work like that but to me, I feel like it does. I instantly feel so much better and this is the feeling I’ve come to crave.
I walk back into my room and take a seat on the floor. I pull out one of my blank canvases. I need to do something besides think about all things I can’t control. Tonight, I decide to paint instead of draw which is something I haven’t done in a long time. Having a blank canvas in front of me always soothes me and that’s just what I need.
I start and before I know it, I’m hyper focused on moving my hands around. Sometimes I get so focused that I don’t even come up for air. The urge to finish what I started in one go is too much.
When I’m finally done and look down at what I’ve created, I see that I’ve painted Knox yet again. At this point, I’m starting to think he’s another one of my obsessions. I paint or draw him as often as I take the drugs. If that isn’t obsession or rather addiction, then I don’t know what is.
The painting is one of him looking at me with one of his signature looks—the one that’s always filled with hate whenever he looks at me. I’ve seen it so often that I’ve managed to capture it and bring it to life. As I continue to stare at it, I can feel the hatred jumping out at me from the canvas.
A minute later, I paint over the entire thing in red and add something else to it. When I’m finally done, I stop and stare at the painting in front of me. I stare at it for a while longer and realize that I’ve created an ambiguous image of him.
The obvious version is him in all his angry glory but when you tilt it sideways, it’s one of him looking like a monster and well, it certainly fits the man I know. I get up and move the canvas into my closet so that it can dry. I don’t want him to come into my room and see it since he’s always coming in uninvited.
I have an idea for the next drawing which is one of me. I get started on it since I’m still feeling restless. It’s a full body one, and it’s something I haven’t done with myself for a long time. This one shows more of the self-hatred I can’t seem to get rid of.
I look like a zombie with an ugly face and all the words Knox has called me are written on my skin in the drawing as well.Slut, fat, ugly…
The list goes on and I can’t seem to stop this self-sabotaging phase I’m going through. I know they always say that you shouldn’t let the words of others define you, but it’s hard to not let their words slip inside your head and grow like a festering wound until you think that you’re nothing but what they call you. Speaking from experience, that is a sad fucking existence.
No matter how hard you try to love yourself, you can’t. Their words have grown into something that love can’t make go away. I’m not sure the hate I feel in my soul would make the words disappear either.
The more they push, the more I feel depressed and just want to end my life. Just to take all the pain away. Bullying fucking hurts you soul deep. If anyone ever tells you to get over it, then they’re just as fucking bad as the rest of them. They don’t understand the pain you feel. Every. Single. Day.
The pain just keeps festering until you can’t breathe with the force of it. Always wondering why. Why do they hate you? Why aren’t you like them? Why aren’t they fucking with anyone else? Not that you want them to because you know how it feels to be treated that way.Just why, why, why…
It’s a never-ending loop inside your head that makes you feel like you’re going crazy all the time. Most days, I wish we hadn’t moved here or that I could’ve stayed with my dad. But I had to stay with Mom instead. Dad said I’d be better off with Mom since he travels a lot. If I had known this is what awaited me here, then I probably would have run away or something.
I push the drawing of myself away. It just reminds me of how ugly I am and I hate it. My phone rings and I look around and spot it on my nightstand. When I look at, it I see it’s my mom. I clear my throat before answering to make sure I don’t sound high or like I’m dying.
“Hi, Mom. Where are you?” I ask as soon as I answer.
“Hey, honey! I missed you! I was hoping to talk to you before I left but Knox said you were out with friends after the reception,” she tells me and I’m confused.
“Leave? Where did you go?” I ask again.
“Jonathan and I are on our honeymoon cruise on his yacht,” she says happily.
“And you didn’t tell me?” I question and yell into the phone.
“You weren’t there for me to tell you, honey. I was looking everywhere for you,” she says.