Page 15 of Forgive Me For I Have Sinned

And I believed it.

I watch the streetlights glow through the big windows of the bus as we pass. My eyes feel heavy, so I decide to close them for five minutes until the bus arrive on campus.

I nod and wash myself, listening to the sounds of his heavy breathing. A cold chill slides down my arms, and a knot forms in my throat, trying not to let the sob escape from my lips as he pleasures himself.

"So beautiful. The devil was the most beautiful angel God had ever created. It is no wonder he would create something so exquisite. Spread your pussy for me, princess," he demands, while he beats his dick faster.

The sound makes me want to throw up. I keep my eyes shut because if I open them, I don't want to cry out and make it worse. I do as he asks and hate myself every time. Every time he makes me bathe in front of him. I just clean myself and imagine there is someone else in the room.

Someone I want.

Who I always wanted.

I say his name repeatedly in my head, trying to picture the only time he looked at me like I was something. I shouldn't because of what he did, but no one has ever looked at me any different.

I jerk, waking up when I hear someone's voice. "Ma'am."

My eyes try to adjust to the bright light. "Huh?"

"This is the last stop. Kenyan."

"Shit." I look around, relieved it's just the bus driver. He looks like Mortimer Snerd sitting behind the wheel.

I walk down the aisle, cursing myself for falling asleep. "Err, thank you."

"Be careful," he says as I run off the bus in front of Drury Hall.

CHAPTER 6

Veronica

I run inside Drury Hall and head to the showers located in the female dorms. I don't want to go home, but I desperately need a shower to scrub my body. If I go home right now, I know I'll fall asleep and I'm afraid I'll have the same dream. I feel numb. Seeing Alaric again and reminding me how he hurt me triggered this need to forget. I keep glancing at the skirt I borrowed from Melody to see if there is blood.

I enter the back door with the skeleton key I found one night in the library when the librarian was busy in the back room and walk down the dark corridor, bypassing the overnight security guard. By the time I enter the shower, I'm out of breath. My lungs burn with trying to stay hidden from security. I close my eyes and look down at my hands. They're trembling.

When I calm down, I turn on the shower, hearing the water hit the tile, and watch the steam from the scalding hot water rise to the ceiling. I remember overhearing Draven saying that his twin hated bathtubs because that is where they found his mother after she slit her wrists. I have to say I agree with him in hating them––especially being inside them. The Bedford twins have their reasons, and I have mine.

After getting undressed, I stand under the spray and look down at the razor blade in my hand. I started cutting when I was twelve. Alicia helped me stop for a while, but after Alaric and then her death, I couldn't stop. Whenever I couldn't cope or hated myself for something I did, I'd cut. It reminds me that I'm still alive––that I'm still here and most importantly, it's pain I can control, making sure it's hidden. The most important part was keeping it hidden from my father by cutting the skin near my inner ankles, inner thighs, or places no one would ever look or notice.

I sit on the tile, push my hair to the side and find a spot near my ankle. I press the tip, closing my eyes, and feel the first sting like the rush of a million needles. I watch the drop of blood flow down my heel to the tile floor. My eyes sting a bit from the heat of the water as I watch the blood flow like a river to the center, gurgling down the drain.

I find another spot when the bleeding becomes too much, watching the blood pool and mix with the water. I slide my fingers down my thighs, seeing the faint bruises, and find a spot scraping the back of my neck with my blunt nails. Tears fall down my cheeks, hating myself like I do every day. I hate my existence, but I have learned to help others in a way. They don't see it, but I don't care.

"Is this how you deal with shit?" I freeze. I look at the blade between my fingers close to the skin on my thigh. "Look at me, Veronica."

I turn around slowly, not caring if I'm naked. I stopped caring a long time ago. My dark hair is plastered on the top of my head like a helmet, but I keep my eyes on the tile, watching the blood flow from the cut on my ankle, bleeding out like the tears on my cheeks.

"W-what do you want, Valen? Why are you here?"

"Look at me, Veronica."

I raise my head slowly and see him leaning on the tile far enough so he doesn't get wet, but I don't meet his eyes because that's the last thing I need. Pity.

"Give me the blade."

"No."

"You're stronger than this."

---