Page 71 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

I drag my feet to my room, my fingers trembling as I fumble with the doorknob. It’s a struggle to contain the turbulent storm within my soul. I hardly notice the creaking sound from the hinges from the buzzing in my ears.

Slamming the door shut, I flick the lock.

This room was once my oasis of peace. But now, there’s nothing that feels welcoming anymore. The bright color of my walls once made me the happiest. They do nothing but mock me now.

As I shuffle my feet to the other side of the room, the tightening in my chest deepens. I feel like if I stop moving, the storm will rise, unleashing all of my pent-up emotions in one big explosive burst.

Pausing in the middle of the room to regain my composure, my nails dig into my palm, drawing blood. I suck in a large amount of air before screaming at the top of my lungs.

Tears of betrayal flow down my face, hot and salty. I hiccup through each sob, fighting with myself to calm the panic attack.

A split second. That’s all it took for my eyes to shoot open as my brain struggles to comprehend what’s about to happen. Without warning, my fingers rapidly glide across my computer desk, shoving everything in its path to collide with the far wall and scatter onto the floor like a hailstorm.

My shaky hands grab each poster I have hanging up, forcefully tearing them down one by one. The sound of the paper splitting echoes through the room.

Somehow, my alarm clock ends up in my hand. I stare at it momentarily before another scream falls from my lungs, and I chuck it across the room, watching it shatter into pieces and drop onto the floor.

Clenching my knees, I rock back and forth in the center of the room. My stomach recoils. How could I let my guard down so easily?

I’m left with nothing but this hollow ache inside of my chest, and it is eating me alive, making me feel hopeless and unworthy.

I lost my mother. I lost my father.

The one person I felt complete with lied to me and betrayed me… used me.

I have no career.

There’s nothing left.

And I don’t know if I can recover from this.

***

The muscles throughout my body are sore. When I open my eyes, I find that I cried myself to sleep and have been curled into a ball on the floor, surrounded by the mess I created yesterday.

The ache in my chest lingers, and I want nothing more for it to disappear. But that’s not possible given the circumstances of what my life has become.

Forcing myself off the floor, I stretch out my limbs, trying to feel some relief and look around the room. I can’t help but feel bad that I destroyed a good portion of my things.

I spend twenty minutes cleaning up as much as possible, starting with the books that flung off my desk. I place them neatly on top of the oak wood and start grabbing handfuls of scraps from the posters and putting them into the small trash bin beside my desk. I do my best to clean up as much of the metal shards from my alarm clock as possible and toss those into the trash, too. Only so much will fit in this tiny bin, leaving the rest of the room a mess, but it’ll do for now.

Grabbing clean clothes from the drawer, I go into the bathroom, turn the shower on, and wait until the water is steaming through the small space. As I undress, my eyes water. My mind replays every moment I had with Alec.

I miss the way he made me feel.

It’s weird, to say the least. Considering it hasn’t been that long since he made me feel good.

Shoving my thoughts aside, I mentally push them into a tiny little box inside my heart.

When I barged into the studio, I half expected things to go differently. But anger sprung when I saw Alec’s dark hair through the small, frosted glass window on the door. The kind of anger that makes heartache that much worse. And before I knew it, the words rolled off my tongue before I had a chance to stop them.

A long sigh flows out of my mouth as I slip off my clothing. Denim shorts pool down to my ankles, taking my laced panties with them. Crossing my arms, I fling off my shirt and unhook my bra before checking the shower water temperature and step inside.

The hot, steamy water hits my skin. I close my eyes, soaking up the comfort it brings.

Once I’ve applied shampoo to my hair and rinsed it off, I scrub my body. I diligently wash away, continuing until I reach a point where tears well up in my eyes, and I struggle to breathe.

Part of me wonders if I should call Alec to at least listen to what he has to say. But what good would that do anyhow? He still kept things from me, used me, and treated me like I was some puppet in whatever game he was trying to play.

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