Page 70 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

There is the slightest bit of hope inside of me that he’ll ignore my threat and turn around. If I’m being honest, I’m not positive I meant what I said to him. But the pain embedded in my soul is enough to know that I need to walk away from this—away from us.

Because there was never really an us from the start.

Breathing in, I go straight home—if I can even call that my home anymore.

The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows slightly above the tree line. The shadows now mirror the darkness that grows within my heart. My body aches, and my chest becomes tighter with each step I take. I feel like I can hardly breathe anymore. Everything around me is blurry from the uncontrollable tears that continue to spill out of my lids.

There is so much anger inside of me I feel like I’m going to burst.

For months, I’ve held every emotion inside, allowing them to gnaw at my insides like a parasite. It has now consumed me from the outside in, leaving me no longer able to contain the pain.

Today has been filled with nothing but a downpour of disappointment, betrayal, and heartache. So much that it physically hurts. It hurts so bad that I don’t know how I’m ever going to pull myself back together.

My tiny body can’t handle much more of this.

Struggling to catch my breath, I gasp for air and clutch at my chest. My hand grips my shirt tighter, tugging in an attempt to release the suffocation I feel.

Clamping my eyes shut, I try to suck in as much oxygen as I can. My legs shake desperately as I make my way up the front porch of my house and use my palm to open the door.

I go straight to the upstairs bathroom, feeling the need to scrub my skin until there is nothing left to scrub.

My head spins, taking my body with it. I grip strands of my hair, nearly ripping them from the roots. Hoping the sting will push the pain in my heart aside.

Pieces of my heart are missing.

Pieces I will never get back.

I didn’t deserve this, did I?

Was this one big punishment for every lousy choice I’ve made recently?

The questions speed through me, slamming against my brain. It’s like a wave that I’m desperate to run away from, not wanting to be pulled under the water.

I have no control.

Running to the toilet and flipping the lid open, I dry heave, on the edge of throwing up. My throat bursts into flames, and I’m sobbing into the toilet bowl.

I can’t do this.

Breathe, Summer. You need to get it together.

It takes me a bit to get myself together before pushing off the floor and standing on my own two feet. My breathing comes in short, shallow gasps. I swallow through the stinging in my throat, still struggling to contain the inner demon that is ready to break free.

I clench my fingers tightly around the edge of the oval porcelain sink. The veins in my hands protruded with force. With each hard breath I take, it becomes heavier, harder to breathe.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I’m filled with disappointment. Each inch of my face is contorted with agony and fury. The fluorescent light above the sink emphasizes the redness and swelling that mars my features.

I don’t recognize myself anymore.

My head is pounding, loud thuds beating against my ear drums. It drowns out everything.

Shut up. Shut up.

“Shut up!” I scream on the top of my lungs.

I need it to stop. Please, stop.

Using my hands, I fill my palms with cold water and splash it on my face, losing count of how many times I’ve done it. I allow the water to soak into my skin. Water drips off my chin and onto my shirt as I breathe slowly through my mouth.

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