Page 68 of Shattered Secrets
I know I need to meet with him. He helped me a lot in the last few months, and he’ll probably help me again. He’ll put things in proportion for me. The proportion I need so much and that I don’t have today. But I just can’t see anyone right now. I can’t talk. I don’t want to talk. I just want to be left alone.
“Tomorrow, Mom.” I go to the shower and lock the door. The white tiles are clean and polished. I feel contaminated and dirty. The same stained feeling I had after they released me from the hospital.
I turn on the hot water and undress in front of the mirror. My body is covered in blue marks, bruises, and scratches.
I know it’s not real. My mind imagines it and takes me back there to those first few days. But the feeling is real. I stroke my tattoo with my fingers, trying to draw strength from it.
I open the cabinet above the sink and take out the bottle of pills, placing it on the white counter in front of me.
Dr. Sullivan prescribed me sleeping pills to help with the nightmares. I haven’t taken them in some time now. I thought I had reached a good place. But the emotions are just lurking under the surface, like lava waiting to erupt. My shell is thin. It didn’t have time to harden. So a minor setback is enough to open everything up.
I open the lid with the child lock and peer inside. There’s about half a bottle. What will happen if I take them all? It will never end. It will never go away. Improvement is an illusion. At any moment, a stone can shatter the thin glass that I glued so carefully. Will I ever be able to live with this trauma? Or will it forever raise its head?
“Ayala, are you okay?” Mom asks beyond the door.
“Just taking a shower,” I answer and turn the water on full blast until it’s steaming hot. I take a step and go under the stream. The water burns my skin, and I accept the pain with joy, watching as my skin turns red. I stay as long as I can tolerate it before the pain gets too bad, then I shut the water off and sink to the floor, creating a puddle underneath me.
“Ayala, open the door.” My mother’s voice sounds hysterical.
“Almost done,” I call, getting up slowly, wrapping myself in a robe, and binding it around my waist, making sure no one will see the redness of my skin. The pills call to me from the counter, and I put the bottle in the pocket of my robe.
Inhale…
I open the door to find Mom waiting just beyond.
“Ayala, are you okay? You were in there for such a long time,” she says, but I can’t talk to her right now.
“I’m going to sleep. I’m tired.” I walk to my room, ignoring all their mutterings. They’re worried and scared, but I can’t handle anything but myself right now.
In bed, under the covers, I fight the urge to swallow the entire bottle.
Don’t make life-changing decisions in a moment of difficulty.
I repeat the mantra I memorized in therapy over and over. I take out two pills because one won’t be enough in this situation and swallow them. The peace of dreamless sleep is what I need.
The door opens and closes every few minutes. My parents peek in with worried looks on their faces. I pull the blanket over my head.Let me sleep. Please, just let me sleep.
I don’t know how many hours I’ve slept when the door opens again. Jeez, I thought they’d let me be. The pills make my head feel fuzzy, but even under their influence, I can still hear the footsteps.
The blanket is lifted from my face.
“Let me sleep,” I mumble, hoping they’ll see I’m fine and leave me, then I try to pull the blanket back over me, but I’m met with resistance.
The rustle of the pill bottle has me opening my eyes a little. The room is completely dark.
“Ayala, how many did you take?” It’s just my imagination playing tricks on me. Weird, but I didn’t have hallucinations when I took them before. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to take two.
“Mmm...” I try to tug on the blanket again, but muscular hands shake me, forcing me to focus.
“Ayala, how many did you take? Answer me!”
“Two,” I say. The morning will come soon and force me to face reality. Give me a few hours of peace.
Sigh. And then the noise of a belt, the whooshing sound of clothes. The bed next to me sinks, and I’m cuddled into Ethan’s warm body.These pills create realistic dreams.
I adapt myself to his embrace.
CHAPTER29
