Page 213 of Broken Saint
“Ella, are you coming?” she calls, a hopeful lilt in her voice that makes me cringe.
“Yeah,” I whisper. There’s no way she can hear it over the sound of the running water, but to my surprise, she doesn’t pop her head out to check on me.
The second I step into the doorway, wearing my almost-week-old pajamas, Mom’s face erupts in a smile that I’m sure would rival the one if I were wearing a wedding dress. Fat fucking chance of that.
“It’s all ready for you,” she says before I can dive head-first into that depressing thought.
Maybe everything I dreamed of when I was a kid just isn’t in the cards for me.
“Thanks,” I mutter, stepping forward.
“I’ll go and make you a coffee for when you get out,” she says in a rush before leaving me alone.
Movement in the mirror beside me catches my eye, but I don’t look up and see what kind of horror will stare back at me. Seeing the bottom of my wrinkled oversized t-shirt is more than enough.
I move on autopilot, stripping naked and stepping into the shower.
The sluice of water over my dry skin is nice, but it’s not what I really need, and I reach out and turn the temperature up as high as it’ll go.
The second it begins to burn, I feel better.
The physical pain helps to lessen the emotional pain and heartache.
It’s a relief I desperately crave, but one I know won’t last nearly long enough.
I stand there for as long as I can bear, my skin burning wherever the water hits before I absently reach for my shampoo and begin the monotonous task of washing.
After finishing up, I reach for a towel and wrap myself up. It’s soft and fluffy but nowhere near as comforting as I need. Nothing like a strong set of arms wrapping around me…
“Shit,” I hiss as another wave of dizziness rocks through me.
Reaching out, I wrap my fingers around the counter and wait for it to subside with my eyes closed.
You need to eat, a little voice says in the back of my mind.
I’ve been mostly existing on chips and crackers the past few weeks. It’s nowhere near what my body needs, even if I have been doing nothing but lying in bed.
I need to do something. Find a way to snap out of it and move forward before I have my hand forced and I find myself in a situation I never want to experience again.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I find that Mom has taken all the decision-making away from me.
A set of clean clothes awaits, and without thinking, I pull everything on before twisting my still-wet hair up into an old claw clip and steeling myself to step outside of my room.
I can’t remember the last time I did.
But I soon discover that the fear of leaving the safety of my bedroom is nothing compared to the moment I have to leave the house.
The world spins as I walk down the steps toward Mom’s car.
Everything is too bright, too noisy, too…overwhelming.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve taken the exact same trip a million times in my life.
It has never felt like this.
My chest tightens, and I swear my lungs begin to reduce in size as my pulse increases.
It doesn’t matter how fast I breathe; I can’t suck in the oxygen I need.