Page 27 of Wicked Salvation
Lucian.
His steady hands.
His composed and calming voice.
The way he always looked at me like I was worth something.
But I pushed him away, the way I always manage to do with people I love, one way or another. I’m the one who keeps ruining my own life, and I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I curl up in my bed fully dressed.
My shoes are still on—if my mother could see me now, she’d call me uncouth. Yet I can’t bring myself to care. Why is she always in my head even though we’re hundreds of miles apart? I don’t want her in my head.
I wantmyselfin my head.
But all I can hear myself saying is?—
Please come back.
Please don’t leave.
So I lie there, the dark storm in my mind growing harsher, louder, crueler. I don’t even know whose voice it is anymore, just a culmination of every terrible thing everyone has said to me over the years.
Did you really expect anybody to stay?
No one ever stays.
I always manage to screw things up.
I’m a balloon full of excuses, and the day I pop—I’ll finally be happy.
The pillow swallows my screams, but it doesn’t help the sharpness ripping through my brain. Blood-soaked thoughts trickle down my cheeks, masquerading as tears.
You’re so stupid, Eden.
You ruin everything you touch.
He hates you and he’ll never come back.
And you deserve every bit of it.
I’m locked in this nightmare for what feels like forever. Whenever the pain and tears ebb, I try to get myself out it—only to get pulled in again. I pull open the drawer on my nightstand to take some anti-anxiety medication.
I take one and wait.
The feelings ebb again, so I take another.
I’m six pills deep before the feeling finally dies down enough for me to regain some semblance of control. So I get out of bed, pacing around while I scratch my arms, hit my thighs and bite my tongue.
The pain grounds me somewhat.
Enough for me to remember that splashing cold water on my face could help.
But when I get to the sink, the person staring back at me scares me.
I don’t recognize her.
Her face is puffy.
