Page 12 of Dirty Monsters
A few minutes later, I was bent over the toilet, emptying my stomach again. The minutes turned into hours, and I found a towel to lay under my head while I pressed my hot body to the cold floor, begging for some relief. I wanted to die, and I felt like surely if I begged and waited long enough, it would come.
At some point overnight, my weighted eyes closed, and the next thing I remembered was waking up. I could barely see the sunlight as it poured in through the open window. I cursed it. My head was pounding from lack of sleep. My mouth tasted disgusting. I grimaced when I moved my tongue to lick my lips, reminding myself of all the sickness since I went to bed the first time.
Crawling across the floor to the window, I pulled myself up and peered out. A few more swear words dropped from my lips before I started to walk away, but something held me there. Well, not something, more like someone.
He emerged from the water like a sea god as he ran his hands through his hair, the color reminding me of chocolate fudge. His upper body was built and toned. His skin was tanned like it’d been kissed by the sun with tattoos all over. I couldn’t keep my eyes from perusing over every dip and curve of his body.
A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to see my least favorite nurse approaching with her fancy vital-checking gear.
“Good morning, Wren. Time to check things out and see how you’re doing. How was last night?”
“I don’t know. Maybe you should ask the bathroom floor since I spent the night there.” The words spit from my mouth like venom.
My eyes trailed back to the spot I was eyeing from the window. He was still standing there, drying himself off with a towel.
“Who is he?” I asked, curiosity getting the best of me.
Following my gaze, she smiled and shook her head.
“That’s Ro. He works in the Orange House. You’ll meet him in the next step of treatment.”
Well, at least I had something to look forward to.
In the mornings, I pulled myself from my bed and made my way to the water. It was the best part about Florida and the reason I came down here in the first place. A morning breeze slid over me as I walked toward the ocean. Calling me like my own personal drug, day after day. After being raised in what felt like several prisons, I no longer wanted the walls around me.
Not even in the form of a landlocked state.
When the job opening came for Beachside Manor, I pasted on my best Boy Scout smile and faked every happy and joyful answer I gave them in the hiring process. Faking smiles was a specialty of mine. It shielded people from the darkness lurking inside my heart.
They offered me the job and even living quarters, so I hopped on the first bus out and never gave it a second glance. Nothing was back home for me except a brother who was the bane of every tragic thing I experienced growing up.
Florida was my chance to be free, start new, and not have to think back to the ghosts and shadows I wanted to escape.
A rehab facility wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it was working out for now.
I sat in the sand after drying myself off for a few more minutes. The water still dripped from my swim trunks and hair. I had to report to my shift in thirty minutes, and since it only took me fifteen to shower and get there, I had fifteen more minutes to soak in the morning sun.
Alone.
I was always alone. I preferred it that way. It meant I didn’t have to explain my thoughts or actions to anyone other than myself.
Sometimes, the inpatient guests made their way out here, and I quickly retreated indoors. Not only for the peace but because some of them didn’t know what a boundary was.
Fresh off their detox and feeling lonely themselves, they often tried to come on to me and use me to curb their loneliness. I didn’t allow it. Not only did I not want to risk my job but I had also found out years ago that, personally, I was better off alone.
I was no good to anyone. I was decorated with failures and shortcomings.
The past was a dark path I tried to avoid, but for some reason, I kept feeling drawn to it this morning. Memories of being tossed around from home to home, condemned for things I didn't do, and the struggles to continually prove myself.
All failures.
I didn’t know why, but I was having a hard time escaping the unwelcome memories, so I jumped from the sand and walked quickly into my living quarters. The extra time I had could be spent in the shower or even showing up early to my shift.
Unfortunately, even a shower didn’t wash away the memories flooding back this morning.
What the fuck?
I dressed in my scrubs and quickly made my way up the stairs to work, my hair still wet and dripping onto my shirt. I would probably get scolded by my supervisor for appearing a little disheveled because this was an upscale place. She often reminded me how our presentation and appearance were an important part of our image.