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I’ve kept myself locked away from everyone for the past two weeks and ignored the knocks on my door. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I glance at it to see who it is. Jordin’s number flashes on the screen. I choose to ignore it, still not ready to face her. I’m not prepared to face anyone. Not when the nightmares of that night still plague me. It’s always the same. Faceless dead bodies everywhere I look. My body is covered in blood. No matter how many times I wipe the blood off my hands, it remains like liquid glue.
Unable to ignore my full bladder, I pull the comforter from my body, swinging my legs to the side of the bed and giving myself a moment before standing. I forgo the urge to stretch my tense muscles. I might pull on my stitches if I do. The last thing I wanna do is rip them open after following Julia’s instructions to the T. She said it’s healed really well, but I’ll still be left with a scar. At least it will be a small one.
Quietly, I tip-toe to the bathroom, hoping I don’t run into Saint on the way. Thankfully, the coast is clear. I know I can’t avoid him forever. He won’t give me a choice. But today’s not the day. Today’s goal is to push Saint Garo to the back of my mind.
After relieving my bladder, I undress and step into the warm spray of the shower, scrubbing my body clean.
Sliding open the glass door, I wrap a towel around my wet body, then head to the double sink unit to brush my teeth. With the palm of my hand, I wipe away the condensation, clearing the glass.
I stand before the mirror, my eyes hesitantly lifting to meet the reflection. A soft gasp escaped my lips as I trace the lines on my face that stare back at me. A stark departure from the one I once knew.
Paleness clings to my hollowed complexion. My cheeks, once softly rounded, are now sunken and haunted. Dark shadows linger beneath my eyes that whisper weeks of sleepless nights from the nightmares that hold me captive. A lonely tear slips from the corner of my eye.
This isn’t me. I’m not going to be the girl who hides herself away. I’m a fighter, and I refuse to let this beat me. My body is slowly healing from the wound. Now it’s time my mind begins to heal as well.
After dressing, I take the stairs to the kitchen, the scent of coffee filling the air.
My mother and Mrs. Watson are in deep conversation, only stopping when they hear my footsteps.
“Alexa, sweetheart. It’s nice to see you up and about early this morning.”
Mrs. Watson holds a tray with coffee, toast, orange juice, and a freshly baked croissant.
“I was just about to bring this up to you, but if you’d rather eat it here, I can set a place at the table,” Mrs. Watson says, setting the tray down to make space.
Every morning, she puts on the biggest spread of freshly baked goods, with most of it going to waste. It made my heart hurt when people were starving. When I mentioned this to Saint, he ordered that the leftovers be brought to the homeless shelter. The gesture made me fall for him even more.
“I can have it here. All I want is a coffee anyway.”
My mom steps to my side, her hand rubbing my arm in soothing slow motions.
“You haven’t eaten much these last few weeks. I’m worried about you.”
“There’s no need,” I reassure her. “I feel fine. In fact,” I chew my bottom lip. “Doctor Julia said I’m fit to return to my normal activities. As long as it’s not sports-related.”
No sports.I chuckled when she said that, remembering the time I hit Saint over the head with a volleyball. I honestly thought he was going to murder me with the look he gave. If only I’d have known back then how much I would have loved having his punishing hands on my body. I would have hit him harder.
I shake away the memory.
“Really?” my mom squeaks, squeezing me into her chest. “That’s fantastic news!”
Mrs. Watson smiles like it’s the best news she’s ever heard, making me chuckle.
“That’s fantastic news, dear. How about I go down to the pantry and get the ingredients to make some of that banana bread you love. You can have it for your afternoon tea as my treat,” Mrs. Watson kindly offers before leaving the room to continue her work.
She knows her banana bread is her secret weapon. Even Saint loves it, which is saying something since he doesn’t have a sweet tooth like I do.
I wait until Mrs. Watson leaves, shifting my weight from foot to foot, avoiding eye contact with my mom, knowing she’ll freak out with my following words. Clearing my throat, I try to play it cool.
“In fact, I’ve decided to return to school today,” I announced enthusiastically.
I don’t need to look up to know the smile on my mother’s face has disappeared. Her scowl is palpable from here.
“What? No. No way, Alexa. It’s too soon for all that,” she argues.
I knew this was going to turn into an argument.
“I’ve made up my mind, mom. We can’t let what happened keep us from leaving the house forever. Besides, I missed too many classes as it is. If I don’t go back now, I’ll fall behind and have to repeat the year.”
