Page 72 of Commit

I shrink further into myself as his grip on my hand tightens.

“Fun fact: he has a new tattoo too. In the same place as yours,” he says, his voice hollow and cold.

“Abbot—”

“What did you do?” he whispers.

“I’m sorry,” I sob.

“What did you do?” he roars, dropping my hand like it’s on fire.

He storms into my room and starts throwing things, his anger growing as loud as my silence. I struggle to get to my feet, my legs shaking as I hurry out to him. I reach for him, but he shoves me away. I land on the bed and stay there as he destroys my room. He heads for the door and pauses to look at me with an expression of utter disgust.

“Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me. Don’t acknowledge my existence. As far as I’m concerned, you’re dead to me.” He shakes his head, ignoring my tears. “I guess my friends were right all along. You really are a whore.”

He walks away, consumed by fiery indignation, leaving me to burn.

I barely make it to the bathroom in time to start dry-heaving, my face covered in tears and snot. Lifting my head, I scream as everything I knew would happen happens.

I drag myself to my feet and brush my teeth, even as my stomach keeps churning. I turn and notice the razor I dropped on the floor of the shower, taunting me. I bend down to grab it, squeezing it in my hands for a moment before I pop the blade free from the plastic. I don’t peel my jeans down, though, to give myself the sweet relief I crave. This time, it won’t be enough.

Instead, I sit on the toilet seat and press the blade to my wrist, trying to hold it steady as big, wretched sobs jolt through me. I press a little harder, just needing an escape, needing it all to stop.

I look at my tattoo, the cherry blossoms, and think of the promises I made to Eloise. With a scream, I throw the blade across the room. I stumble out of the bathroom and drag myself downstairs. I focus on the front door. When I reach it, I concentrate on making it down the steps outside.

When I step off the last step, I start walking. I notice Hudson’s and Abbot’s cars are gone as I walk away, down the driveway, away from this place that I’ve slowly begun to hate. I shut out everything, my brain needing a break.

I walk around for hours, ignoring the rumble of my stomach and the dryness of my throat. My tears have long since dried. Now, I’m just numb.

I feel like I’m treading water, barely keeping myself afloat while life keeps trying to pull me under. When I’m so exhausted I can’t go any farther, I look around for the first time and realize I know where I am.

I’m not sure if I had this in mind when I left the house or if it’s just a weird coincidence. I cross the road, ignoring the pain in my legs from overdoing it. It’s been so long since I’ve been here that my memories are a little fuzzy. Even so, it doesn’t take me long to find my way through the trailer park to the place I used to call home.

It’s… pretty. I never thought I’d say that about this place. In my head, it was always dark and scary, maybe because my safe space was also my prison.

Now that the monster’s gone, so is the glamour that tricked me. Now I see the flowers someone has planted outside, the fresh coat of paint, and the swept pathway that’s free of broken bottles and discarded needles.

The screen door opens, and a woman in her early thirties steps out, a wary look on her face.

“Can I help you?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I was just in the area.” I swallow, wrapping my arms around myself, feeling as lost now as I did when I lived here.

“Are you okay?” She takes a step closer, her wariness morphing into concern.

“I used to live here.”

She pauses, her concern giving way to understanding. “Would you like to come inside for a drink?”

I hesitate, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable.

She steps closer. “I’m Chloe.” She holds out her hand to me.

“Starling.” I take her hand and shake it.

“So, a drink? I have coffee, tea, water, milk?—”

I smile as she rambles. “Water would be good.”