Page 86 of Something Borrowed

The locks clicks into place.

And I am alone again.

I’d rather be alone and going crazy than spend time with my father.

As much as I have never known love until I met Rufino - I also never understood hate until I looked at my father right now.

The coldness in his eyes can’t hide who he really is anymore. I see straight through him.

I used to fear him. I might even have respected him at one point..

But now I see him for what he is. A heartless monster who takes what he wants and doesn’t give a shit about anyone else but himself.

I wouldn’t blame my mother for leaving.

But if she had she would’ve taken me with her.

She’s dead.

And he’s the one who killed her.

And when Rufino finds me - he will kill my father.

Picking up the fresh clothes from the end of the bed I carry them through to the bathroom. I flick the shower on and stare at it for a moment.

My thoughts are fragments and scattered.

Hot water from the shower fogs against the mirror while I strip out of my old clothes, leaving them lying on the bathroom floor.

Stepping under the water makes my body shudder.

I shower for a long time, letting the water caress over my body and thinking about the way Rufino’s hands would brush against my skin.

My heart is in pain, overwhelmed with anguish - unfulfilled yearning for a man I don’t know if I will ever see again.

Powerless, I crumpled to the ground, my legs unable to support me under the force of the spray.

I wrap my knees up against my chest and let my tears flow. The depth of my solitude is breaking me apart. My heart is shattering into smaller pieces with each passing day.

Where is he?

Nothing in this world makes sense without him.

After the shower I thought I would feel better, but I don’t.

Wet hair hangs over my shoulders. I’m standing with my forehead against the window, looking down towards the ground - seventeen stories looks high enough to end this misery.

I press the palm of my hand against the glass and lean my weight into it.

What’s the point of being here if he isn’t coming for me?

Wind outside the closed window whistles through a small gap in the frame. A high-pitched sound that agitates me.

I step back. Staring at the misty imprint of my palm of the otherwise clean glass.

He’ll come for me.He has to. I can’t lose hope.

He won’t leave me here. He promised.

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