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“Damn.”
I’m exhausted by the time I walk the final half mile from the bus stop and climb the six flights of stairs to our apartment. With all the Pierce drama and the stress of a new job, it feels like three days have been packed into one.
The apartment is dark when I push through the front door. Kim must be at work and Isabel must be sleeping, but I don’t mind coming home to silence. I have no interest in being grilled about the state of my injuries or my rollercoaster first shift at Shelton’s. Overall, it actually went better than expected, and maybe that’s the problem. When your expectations are so low,betteris a depressing prospect.
I grab my last clean pair of sweatpants and head to the bathroom for a quick shower before crashing for the night. Maybe I’ll actually be able to sleep. Even the demons must get weary from their constant tormenting and have to take a break, right?
I peel off my uniform and frown at the image in the mirror.
Tired eyes stare back at me from a reflection I’m hating more with each passing day. It’s not that I look different—it’s that I don’t. Nothing’s changed since I left SCI Burlington, and now I’m back to being marked by the telltale signs of violence that defined my time behind bars.
Frustration simmers in my chest. Anger and exhaustion. Brutal memories come rushing in, and I clench my eyes to block them out. But it doesn’t work. It never does, because nothing stops the echo once it starts. The vicious taunts, the metallic taste of blood, the paralyzing fear of knowing it’s the beginning not the end.
My knuckles whiten around the edge of the counter.
I thought the monsters would stay in that cell when I left. I won the war, didn’t I? Built a mental fortress strong enough to survive and make it out as a functioning human being. So why does it feel like I’m more vulnerable than ever? How do you fight past ghosts intent on haunting your present? How are you supposed to heal when you’re the disease?
I push away from the counter and crank the handle of the shower. Kim eventually showed me the secret to controlling the temperature of this ancient fixture. I watch the stream spray the walls and floor of the tub as it warms up. Showers can be a mixed bag for anxious souls—sometimes an oasis of relief, other times a suffocating trap for a captive brain. Which will this one be? I never know until the outside world dissolves beneath the protective torrent.
After stripping out of my underwear, I step beneath the spray and close my eyes.
The hot water stings as it pelts my wounds, but once I adjust to the pain, I’m free to enjoy the cascading warmth. There was a time when a hot shower was the highlight of my day, but that was before I’d been charred to whatever I am now. My head is already in a tailspin, which means I’m on a dangerous crash course if I don’t distract myself as soon as possible. Today’s cleansing will have to be a quick one.
I’ve just finished soaping my body when there’s a knock at the door.
“What?” I call out.
“Can I brush my teeth?” Isabel yells back. By the closeness of her voice, she must have opened the door.
“Sure,” I say.
“Thanks. I’ll just be a minute.”
I’m in no state to deal with more right now, so I focus on rinsing off to distract my brain from the fact that I’m completely naked with Isabel just a few feet away. I’ve been thinking too many forbidden thoughts about that woman lately.
“Step back,” she warns.
“Huh? Ah!”
I recoil when the water goes scalding hot.
“I warned you.”
Not really.
Did she do that on purpose? Is she still mad at me? Guess I was finished anyway.
I reach around the boiling stream and turn off the water.
“Can you pass me my towel?”
A few seconds later, a blue towel dangles outside the opening of the shower curtain.
“Thanks.”
I grab it from her hand and run it over my head before securing it around my waist. Yanking open the curtain, I step out of the tub and onto the bathmat.
Isabel glances over from the sink, and… shit. She looks like a freaking wet dream in the tiniest sleep shorts and top ever made. Her eyes remain glued to me as well, and I feel her remote touch on every inch of exposed skin. When her gaze lands on the edge of the towel at my hips, I know we’re in deep shit.
