Page 88 of All My Broken Pieces

Pushing up from the bed, I take a few shaky steps. I stop to peek out into the hall before slipping out of the room and quickly sneaking into the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I suck in several breaths to calm the anxiety bubbling up into my throat.

No, it was just a bad dream. I wouldn’t have, I mean, I’m not like that. I wouldneveruse drugs.

Some of the suffocating pressure relieves at my mental reassurance.

Rolling my shoulders, I push off the door and cross the tiled floor, coming to a stop before the bathroom mirror. I stare at the reflection, not recognizing the woman before me.

Her hair is a mess, skin blotchy, makeup smeared. A sheen on her skin from the sweat beading. The most startling feature is her eyes. The pupils are so constricted the green iris appears almost unnatural. Red lines surround the eery focal point of her eyes.

I blink, watching as she does the same.

I know it’s me in the reflection, but my mind refuses to connect the logic with my emotional side. Because if sheisme, that means Ididdo it. That means I succumbed to the same demons that I’ve watched plague my brother. The same ones I refused to even entertain.

The earlier pressure pushes its way up my chest, curling around my throat like fingers squeezing the air from my lungs. I suck in useless breath after useless breath. My chest heaves as I desperately try to get the oxygen I need, but I can’t.

With a trembling hand, I reach into my pocket, pulling out the small baggie. One glance down shows the truth. There’s no denying it.

I drop the empty plastic bag, watching as it floats to the ground. My knees buckle as the realization of what it means hits me. Sinking to the ground, I curl my legs against my chest, squeezing my knees as tightly as I can.

What have I done?

I lay there for what may be seconds or hours, willing my gasping breaths to even out. Still curled in a ball on the cool tile, I press my cheek against the smooth surface. The chilly temperature a stark contrast to my overheated skin. I focus on the sensation, something about it enough to distract me from my crippling panic.

As I lay on the bathroom floor, my mind replays the last few months, a depressing reel of my self-destruction.

Lonely nights bleeding into a waking nightmare as I watch everything I worked so hard for slip through my fingers. I watch as I drink and numb myself to the reality of what’s happening, of what happened. Until it was too late.

Echoes of a dream filter through my mind.

“When you love yourself, no one else can take that from you.Thatis how you find true happiness. That is how we find love and acceptance.”

How can I love myself when I’m the one who ruined everything?

The heaviness creeps its way back up at the thought, pushing the little breath I had managed to inhale out of my body. As the weight on my chest increases, a pit in my stomach forms, a hollowness so deep I feel lost in it.

Refusing to let myself wallow in the emotional turmoil any longer, I swallow down the painful ache, forcing myself up onto my knees, then my feet. I peer at my reflection briefly before removing my glasses and bending to splash cold water onto my face.

The cold liquid hitting my skin jolts the remaining anxiety back enough I feel a semblance of control. Needing to gain back as much control of my emotions as I can, I splash more cool water onto my face.

Gasping, I fumble around blindly for the hand towel, dabbing it against my damp skin. I stand upright, smoothing my hair down, licking my thumbs and running them along my eyebrows to smooth out the wayward hairs. Running the towel under my eyes and around my mouth, I try to clean up my appearance.

Once I’ve done the best I can without a full shower, I slip on my glasses to inspect my reflection.

Not perfect, but better.

I try to smile, but it falls flat, the corners of my lips twitching as I strain to keep them turned upward.

Unable to look at myself a moment longer, I spin on my heel and rush out of the bathroom, freezing as the sound of voices filters down the hall.

A familiar voice reaches me and my heart stops. A flash of a hazy memory tries to push its way through, Arriana’s worried face bleeding into my mind.

I thought it was a dream.

Creeping toward the sound, my halted heartbeat kickstarts, thundering so hard I’m afraid it might burst from my chest.

I step into the main living area, my eyes traveling over the tense scene before me. Gulping, I push down the feeling that I’m the reason behind the heightened emotional state. My gaze lands on the source of the voice I heard, the same person who I’ve envisioned every moment of every day since she was taken.

I blink several times, willing this to be real and not some weird drug side effect. When she doesn’t disappear, I begin to let myself believe that this is real. That she’s really here.

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