Page 64 of The Guru: Shadow

“I am aware. And no, I just want the papers and to leave.”

“I understand. Just in case you change your mind, here is a list with addresses and resources, I’ll put it here for you.”

She was absolutely sure she would never use it, but stuffed it in her bag to avoid getting admitted immediately and at least look like she was processing what happened. She should feel something about what happened – anger, shame, whatever – but there was just nothing. Maybe it was dissociation, or maybe she already went through all the shit in the world and there was nothing she could feel about anymore.

I’m just broken. That’s why Deis doesn’t want to be seen with me.

And that ever-consuming feeling of being an outsider, of being unworthy, greeted her with heaviness in her chest.

When she finally got the papers, she almost ran out of the hospital. As the typical Manhattan air went up her nose, she closed her eyes for a moment to take it in. Listening to the buzzing sounds of honking cars and never-ending traffic.

Only tonight something was different - or more this morning – as she glanced at her phone, it was exactly 5.33 in the morning. Seeing it, made her shudder.

The damn 33. A bit too many coincidences by now.

The city, which normally felt like home to her on a goosebumps-producing level, didn’t feel like home anymore. Once again in her life, she felt like an uprooted tree after a hurricane, where nothing was where it was supposed to be and there was no way back.

So she walked. Because while she walked, she was still standing. Still breathing. Still alive.

When she reached her apartment building after walking a dozen blocks down 9th Avenue, she stood in front of it but simply couldn’t enter. Images flashed through her mind like a stroboscope. It wasn’t home anymore, it hadn’t been since the day she found Chris and Sami fucking, and looking back, it had never been a home before.

I have nowhere to go.

I have no home.

I have nothing.

Why do things like this always happen to me?

Why am I always the one who ends up hurt and lost?

My entire life I’ve been there for others, helped, was nice. Despite everything. And somehow, I am always the one being punished.

What’s the fucking point?

So, without another glance, she turned and walked. Walked so her problems, her emotions would not wrestle her to the ground. She made her way down 10th Avenue, until she reached High Line. There, she said hi to the sweet staff member, smiling at her as he just opened the park.

“How’s Nia doing?” she asked him.

“Better, thanks for asking, Em. How are you?”

“Will be alright, forgot the coffee today, quite a messy past few days.”

“Em, ya don’t have to, ya know that.”

“Take care,” she said and went to stroll down the greened old subway track between classic and modern New York City architecture. It was one of her favorite things to do.

As she sat down on a bench on the height of 20th St., the cloudy sky, with the horizon slowly being colored in all shades of pink and orange from the awaiting sunrise, laughed at her with all its beauty.

Maybe I can stay here forever and loose myself in the view.

And while she sat there, endless guilt and shame crawled up in her, consuming her inner existence, almost chewing away her organs from the feel of it. A growing urge wanted nothing more than to separate her body from her skin. She felt dirty, used, and the worst of it, she felt like all of it was her fault. She had asked for him to come over. It was her inability to cope with life that made her message him.

My incapability. My stupidity.

A feeling like someone stabbed her in the chest. At least that was what she thought it to feel like.

Her phone vibrated. Seeing who it was made her groan.