Page 74 of Wrecked
I step into the shower and lean my back against the wall, sliding down to the cool, porcelain tile. It’s still wet from when I turned the water on earlier, but I don’t care as the water seeps through my towel, causing a chill to sweep over my body. I bring the bottle of vodka to my mouth, tip it back, and chug. I keep chugging until half of the contents are in my stomach. My vision starts to blur, and my head feels fuzzy. I’m almost there, almost at the right amount of drunk. I just needtonight. One night that I don’t have to let this hurt me, to let the pain consume me.
I must have fallen asleep, because what feels like only minutes later, my crusty eyes break apart. The sun has already set, and my room is pitch black. I pull myself up from the shower floor, slipping a little on the water under my feet.
I drop my towel and walk naked to my bed. I feel sick to my stomach. I guess I slept through the “right amount of drunk” and now I just feel awful.
My phone is still plugged into the wall beside my bed, so I grab it, desperately hoping to see a message from Ellie. I don’t know why. If she doesn’t fall for the show I put on, then she gets hurt. If I tell her the truth, she’ll get hurt. Ellie won’t let me live under my father’s thumb. She’ll involve herself, she’ll intervene, and then she will be on Nathaniel’s radar. I’d rather live the rest of my life feeling this indescribable pain without her than have her get hurt.
Still, I unlock my phone with a healthy amount of hope. I have five missed messages, so I swipe on the green app to open them.
Emmy:What. Did. You. Do.
Emmy:I never thought I’d say this, big brother, but I hate you right now!
Emmy:You better have a really good explanation for why I saw Ellie running out of here in tears.
Emmy:You’re a dick. A big stupid dickhead.
Nathaniel:Well done, son.
Son. The only time he calls me that is when I do something he is proud of. Which is usually something I’m ashamed of.
I throw my phone across the room, somehow missing every piece of furniture I have, effectively avoiding the destruction I’m craving.
I get up from my bed, swaying a little, and head back to the bathroom. I grab the half-empty bottle of vodka, stopping for my phone before plopping back down on my bed. The room is spinning, but I don’t care. I take another swig and welcome the burn as it reaches my throat. I know I shouldn’t do this. I know this could destroy everything I tried to accomplish tonight. But I am far too drunk and in too much pain to stop myself.
Nate: I’m so sorry, baby. I’ll never stop loving you.
I scroll to the top of the text and click on Ellie’s name. Once I’m on the right screen, I scroll to the bottom, my finger hovering above the button I need to press. The button I have no choice but to press.
I close my eyes as my thumb makes contact.
Block caller.
It’s done. It’s officially over.
These next two years need to go by fast, otherwise I won’t be here to meet her at the end of them.
With that thought, I polish off the bottle of vodka and pass out.
Ellie (sophomore year, high school)
I wakeup in my car several hours later. My throat is raw, my eyes are swollen, my heart isshattered. I stretch my neck to each shoulder, trying to work out the kink that developed in my sleep.
Sleep.
As though I willingly laid my head down and took a nap instead of crying to the point of exhaustion. As if I went out for a joy-ride rather than sped away from the worst pain I’ve ever felt.
My mind didn’tsleep. My brain stayed active, reminding me of all the love I’ve felt over the last nine months. Reminding me of the way it felt to be kissed, held, and cared for by the love of my life. All of that was stripped away in a second. The love. Safety. Protection. I am left with nothing but my broken, bleeding heart.
The despair I feel is hollowing, cutting so deep I can feel it in my bones. I want to scream. I want to beg. Beg him to take me back. Beg him to love me the way I love him. Beg him to make itstop hurting. I don’t care how pathetic that would make me. Every part of me wants to go back to Nate’s house and get on my knees, begging him to want me again.
“Oh God.” I hiccup. “It hurts. It’s hurts so fucking bad.” I cry out to no one. To anyone. To God, maybe. “Please…please…please…” I don’t even know what I’m asking for. What I’m begging for. I just drop my forehead to my steering wheel and repeat it over and over again. Tears burn as they fall from my swollen eyes. They trail down my cheeks, landing on my raw upper lip. Lips that are swollen and chaffed from the salty fluid that won’t let up.
My sobs turn into gasps for air. I no longer make a sound as my face stretches into a painful, silent cry. It’s as though I’m crying on mute.
The quiet sobs continue to rack my body, my shoulders tense but shaking from the force of my cries. My lungs areburning from the lack of oxygen, each silent wail taking seconds of air from my body as I try to fight through them.
I feel like I’m dying.
