Page 24 of Tortured Whispers
“Calm down, Brook. You have to breathe, baby.”
“I can’t!” I shrieked in a panic. My wet eyes scanned for something in Cease’s car. Anything to cut with.
“You’re going to have to calm down.” He rolled the windows down and I felt air rushing over my skin. The water was still swallowing me rapidly. It felt as if I was inside an aquarium banging on the thick glass, begging for Caesar to get me out.
He pulled off and more air slid across my skin but my lungs were still useless. It wasn’t until Cease took me home and held me in his arms that I started to breathe. Deep, chest-vibrating coughs shook my body.
Finally, my voice squeaked out tiny and afraid, “Why?”
“I don’t know, Brook,” he sighed, brushing the hair from my forehead. Each thump of my stupid heart made me feel like my ribs would shatter.
The walls of my own house felt foreign and unwelcoming. I hated being home. I didn’t want to look at that house again. Memories suddenly became my lifeline and the only thing that would play before my eyes.
How?
How could my father be gone?
How could I miss him so sorely already?
A part of me was gone and there was only a gaping hole.
**
I woke up in my bed. Darkness surrounded me and I felt cold. Cold and so fucking empty. Once reality came surging back in all bitter and jagged, I rushed to my bathroom and locked the door.
My faithful precision point tweezers stared back at me from the medicine cabinet like an old friend. I yanked them down and shoved my sleeve up hastily. My lips parted and I sucked in breath after breath, thirsty for air. The water was coming faster and faster.
A satisfied moan escaped me as I shut my eyes and sat on the edge of the tub. Warm blood slid down to my hand. The deep thrum pulsed down to my tendons and it stung so bad but still so good.
Shame and grief danced in my chest before taking over my body. I hated myself, so I cut again and again and again until…
Knock, knock, knock…
“Brook, you awake?” Caesar’s voice was hazy at best. “Brooklyn, open this door,” he growled. The bathroom door trembled beneath his fist.
My hands slipped trying to open the door. They were coated in thick crimson. It smeared all over everything. It dripped onto the floor. It soaked my sleeves.
There was so much blood.
“I can’t…I can’t open the door,” I laughed. I sounded distant.
“Brooklyn!” Cease shouted. His voice was broken apart.
In the next moment, or maybe it was two or three moments, Caesar dragged me out of the bathroom and my vision grew fuzzy.
**
I woke up in the hospital. Pain burned my forearms when I tried to push to a sitting position. I looked down to see stark white bandages up to my elbows on both arms. A thick knot lodged itself in my throat.
I was in awe.
I was happy and pissed off at the same time. Having bandages on meant I wouldn’t cut but the exact same realization made me smolder with anger. I needed to cut but I knew better.
My head hurt with the contradiction.
“There she is,” I jerked my gaze to the corner of the room and saw Caesar’s long frame swallowing two chairs he’d turned into a makeshift bed. His eyes were bloodshot red and his normally perfect hair was disheveled.
He strolled over to my bed and pushed his fingers through my hair. Everything came into focus. I pushed out a soft sigh and nuzzled against his touch.
“Can you tell me it was all a bad dweam?” I sniffed. Cease shook his head, sadness washed over his handsome features. He sat beside me and pulled my body against him. His smell was more comforting than anything in the world.
“I’m sorry, baby. It’s not a bad dream. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here. Let me know. I’m not leaving your side.” I looked down at my bandaged arms then at Cease.
“I went too far. How much blood did I lose?”
“A lot. Scared the fuck out of me. I can’t lose you, Brook.” He kissed the top of my head and my heart thumped.
“I’m sowwy. My head is fucked up. This hurts so bad.”
