by TT Kove
‘Why’d you wait up for me?’ Then I remembered. We’d been supposed to spend some quality time together, without our flatmates around. ‘I’m sorry. I forgot. I’m so sorry.’ His guilt was nothing compared to mine. It consumed me.
‘Josh…’ His arms tightened around me. ‘You honestly think I wouldn’t wait up? Your mum rang me, you know. I’d forgotten to turn my phone off silent—but when you never came home, I remembered to turn it back on, and she got a hold of me. All day you’ve known this, and I didn’t find out until only hours ago.’
Of course Mum would’ve rung him when I never answered. And of course he kept his phone on silent at school. He was busy, he had a lot of studying, and he couldn’t let his phone disrupt him. Not when I’d been in a good mood this morning. There was no harm to be done then, to keep his phone on silent and not check it.
It was just that harm had already been done…
‘Do you want to lie down?’
I nodded jerkily and he gently pushed me down on the bed. When I was lying on my side, with my back to him, he scooted in close and wrapped an arm tightly around my waist.
‘It’ll get better, Josh. Just give it time.’ He kissed the back of my neck, making me shudder. No matter how bad I was feeling, having him so close, being so intimate, it was good. ‘He won’t get to you.’
I drew in a shaky breath, but didn’t say anything.
He didn’t know. How could he possibly know it would get better? I’d been getting better the past three months, but I always seemed to revert.
And now… now it was impossible. Now Andrew was out there, possibly—no, definitely—out for revenge.
He must want it. He couldn’t have changed so much the past three years. Well, the past five, considering he’d been kept out of my life ever since I woke up in hospital and told Mum.
The man I knew, the sadistic pervert who’d ruined me, he’d do anything he could to punish me for what I’d done. Prison couldn’t have changed him for the better. I wholeheartedly believed he couldn’t change. He’d always been out to hurt me—and he would still be out to hurt me, no matter what anyone said.
I turned around in Damian’s arms, pressing up close to him.
‘I love you so much.’
‘I love you too.’
I should tell him. About my feelings, just how intense they were. About Andrew and my absolute certainty that he was out for me. About the dark shape outside the window last night—oh god!—and someone following me home now, except I hadn’t actually seen anyone.
But he had enough on his mind. He was in medical school, studying to become a surgeon, and he had enough on his plate.
Besides, I was twenty-one years old. I should be able to take care of myself by now.
Except I was exceptionally bad at just that.
‘No—st-stop, no!’
I was pressed down into the bed and hands were grabbing me forcefully. My body ached from the rough treatment. I was hurting, I was being hurt, it hurt so bloody much! I was always hurting, it kept happening again and again and again… and I didn’t want it to happen, I wanted him off me, I didn’t want to lie there naked in my own bed with him atop me, forcing me…
‘No! Ge-get off me!’
I tried to push him off, but he was too heavy and I was too weak. I was too weak to do anything but lie there and take every hurtful touch. I had to lie there and take the harsh words, the slapping, the beating, the grunting when he forced himself on me.
Panic shot through me as my legs were shoved apart and he forced his way down in-between them.
‘No!’ I screamed, only to have a big, rough hand come up to cover my mouth. The hand was so huge it was covering my nose as well and I couldn’t breathe. I flailed my arms, which he’d let go of in order to cover my mouth. I hit something, someone, but he didn’t move away from me. Instead he pressed down further and I wanted to scream again, but I couldn’t because that hand was shutting off my airways and I couldn’t breathe…
‘No!’
I shot up into a sitting position. The duvet tangled around my feet and my clothes clung to my damp skin. My heart beat wildly and my breathing was ragged. I bent over, hands buried in my hair as I fought the tears and the sobs. I pulled violently on my hair, hoping the pain would hold the tears in check.
‘Damian…?’
The bed next to me was empty and reality slowly sank back in. Damian was already at uni.
I’d slept in, slept longer than I used to. Usually, if I didn’t wake up long before him, I woke up alongside him. But I’d slept in, which meant he wasn’t here.
He wasn’t here to wake me from the nightmare, he wasn’t here to hold and calm me down…
My breathing sped up again and I crawled to the end of the bed. Even though my body was drenched in sweat from the fear the nightmare had brought back, the chill in the room was creeping in on me.
I stumbled onto the floor and stood there for a while, lost as to what to do next, before I fled to the bathroom. Unlike the bedroom, it was warm and I didn’t even bother turning on the lights as I sank down on the heated floor, lying on top of the soft, fluffy rug.
I curled one hand in front of my face and, though I couldn’t see it, knew exactly how it looked: deformed by scars.
Without realising it, my other hand had started scratching at my scarred skin.
Quickly, I pulled it back and started rapidly snapping the rubber bands I always wore around each wrist now. I hadn’t cut myself in three months. I couldn’t slip up now, not after so long.
How could I face anyone if I slipped up again? How could I face Damian?
Proud…
The images from the nightmare flashed in my mind. I covered my face with my hands and forced down the shriek that threatened to leave me.
My arms were itching. I wanted a razor, I wanted to cut, I needed to cut. After all these years, I was still plagued by the nightmares. It was six years ago now that I’d tried to kill myself and Andrew’s abuse had finally ended. Six years and it was still ruining my life.
He was still ruining my life. And now he was out.
Why couldn’t the nightmares ever stop? Why couldn’t I ever be free from Andrew and the abuse I’d suffered at his hands for almost my entire childhood? Why couldn’t I ever get over it so I could live a nice, normal life? Why did I have to be so continuously messed up?
Whenever I thought things were finally going well, when I’d gone three months without cutting, the nightmares returned full force to slap me right across the face. And now his release hit me like a sledgehammer.
The tears were falling now and I didn’t even bother wiping them away. There was no point; they were going to fall anyway. Instead I clenched my hands in against my chest. I had to resist the temptation to search the entire bathroom for a razor or to scratch myself until I bled, something I had resorted to so many times in the past I couldn’t even count anymore.
Blood calmed me down like nothing else did. Seeing it trickle over my scars, struggling to find a path through the deformed, scarred skin… it was fascinating, it was addicting, it was something I’d needed for so very long. Something I still needed.
I was shaking from anxiety and restraint and tears were constantly pressing behind my eyelids. I was sweating too, and it was a cold sweat that left me feeling chilly all over. I was hanging on by a thread. Now there were only a couple of thin, frail threads left and I was slowly losing the battle. I couldn’t hang onto them.
Why should I?
I was alive today because cutting had helped me deal. If it hadn’t been for that… I doubted I’d be alive and breathing and panicking today.
I pushed myself up as the tears overflowed, trailing down my cheeks. I all but ran to the kitchen, grabbed the first knife I could find, then darted back into the bathroom again. I locked the door after me, even though I was the only one at home. Or so I hoped anyway. Damian would be at school, revising, for most of the day, and both Silver and Kian had jobs.
/> The wood was hard against my back as I leant against it, trying to will myself to leave the bathroom again, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t possibly leave. I needed… needed release. Needed it so badly I trembled with it.
When I managed to get the trembling slightly under control, I stumbled over to the bathtub and climbed inside. It was safe in there, small enough to fit me lying down, and the sides shielded everything else from view.
I pulled my jumper over my head, leaving me in a T-shirt. I put the knife down in front of me, close to the drain. It was sharp. It was just what I needed. Just what I craved. Just what could give me that blessed release.
Andrew.
Andrew…
He shouldn’t be allowed to be out. He was dangerous. Didn’t they realise that?
I squeezed my eyes shut as a sob escaped me, and I pressed the blade of the knife down into my scarred and mutilated skin, drawing blood for the first time in three months.
I didn’t think I’d ever been able to go three months without cutting before.
Andrew’s eyes…
Whenever they’d met mine during the court case… they’d been so cold. Promising revenge. London might be big, but if Andrew wanted to get back at me for his incarceration, then he bloody well could.
How could I know he hadn’t found me already?
He might be watching me, might’ve been following me. Because someone had been watching, and someone had followed me.
What if he knew where I lived? I was so sure the person outside had been looking in our window.
What if he came knocking on the door when I was home alone? Nothing would stop him from breaking it down and having his way with me. Nothing at all. I might be a grown up now, but if I was faced with him… I’d be just as powerless to defend myself as I had been when I’d been a kid.
Someone was out there watching.
Someone’s followed me two nights in a row.
Fear laced through me.
Opening my eyes, I stared down at my left arm. The blood was trickling already. Some stained my jeans, some dripped into the tub itself. The stark red colour next to the white of the tub… such a contrast. Such beauty.
They let him out. I can’t believe they let him out.
I cut again, and again, and again. I cut until my entire forearm was covered in red. My jeans were completely ruined; the tub was dotted red—more red than it was white by now.
Tears ran in a steady stream down my cheeks and sobs wracked my body. My right hand was shaking and covered in the blood it had drawn. The knife was slippery in my fingers, but I couldn’t stop cutting. It had been so long since the last time…
‘I’m so proud of you.’
Damian’s words echoed through my mind.
Damian!
The knife clattered to the bottom of the tub as I curled in on myself. I went to cover my face with my hands, but then realised they were covered in blood, so I settled on burying my face against the scarred skin on my right arm, which I hadn’t cut yet.
One piece of bad news and I was back to being a mess. I wasn’t doing any better at all. I was the very same mess I’d been my entire bloody life. Since Andrew had literally fucked me up.
‘Proud of you…’
How could Damian even stand to look at me now? I’d slipped up after three months and for what? For Andrew. Like I always did. Everything was always about Andrew. He kept on messing up my life when he wasn’t even part of it anymore.
I tried to stop the blood with my right hand, but it kept on trickling. I’d cut too much, too deep, and no matter how hard I pressed, I couldn’t stop it.
‘Oh god, no. No, no, no, no.’
I’d lost control.
I fished out my phone from my other pocket—I’d fallen asleep in my clothes apparently, and it’d been in my pocket—and I turned it on with a fumbling hand.
Once it was on I went into my recently-called list. Damian was on top. I could ring him, but he was at school so not likely to hear it unless he checked it just as I rang. I could ring Mum, and she’d drop everything for me, like she always did.
Guilt gnawed at me. How long was I going to keep inconveniencing everyone close to me?
I clicked on the second option.
‘Joshua?’
‘Mum,’ I cried into the phone. ‘I cut again.’
‘Wha—’ She sounded confused for a moment. ‘Joshua, what happened? What’s the matter?’
‘I cut!’ I bent over, placing my phone against my ear and shoulder as I tried to press down on my arm again. It didn’t do any good. I couldn’t reach all the cuts—they were all over. ‘Mum, I cut too deep.’
She drew a sharp breath.
‘Keep pressure on it. I’ll be right there.’ Only a click alerted me to the fact she’d hung up.
I rested my forehead against my knees, crying loudly. The pain from the cutting helped calm my emotions a bit, but not nearly enough. Everything was still so overwhelming, and on a constant loop in my mind.
I rocked back and forth as I cried and the blood kept trickling from my arm, messing up the tub, me, everything. Maybe I’d just bleed out and that would be that.
No!
I couldn’t do that to Damian. Not to Mum either. I couldn’t die. I had so many people I cared about, people I didn’t want to leave. Living hurt, but at least I had them close to me. My family, Damian’s family, my friends…
I must’ve sat like that for a long time because next thing I knew someone was banging on the front door. Keys rattled, door was opened then closed. More banging on the bathroom door.
‘Joshua! Open up.’
It took me way too long to push myself up and stumble over to the door, but I managed it. I turned the lock so she’d be able to come inside, then collapsed down on the fluffy rug in a fit of hysterics.
‘Joshua!’ Her hands cupped my face, tilting it up so I faced her. She swam in front of my eyes, in and out of focus. ‘Jesus. What have you done?’
‘I’m sorry!’ I crumbled again into fits of sobs.
‘No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not blaming you.’ Her hands left my face and she walked away, but she was soon back with a wet towel she pressed against my bleeding arm. ‘You need sutures. We have to go to A&E.’
A jerky nod was all I could manage in response. I knew I’d cut too deep, I knew wrapping it up wouldn’t stop the bleeding.
She cleaned what she could, though new blood kept trickling, so it was impossible to get it all off. Once she was satisfied—or frustrated enough—she wrapped gauze tightly around my arm so it would hopefully hold until we got me to the A&E, where they’d stitch me up.
‘Up you go then.’ She wasn’t as tall as me, except when she was wearing heels, but she was still strong, and she managed to pull me up on my feet without much help from me.
I wanted to thank her, but my throat wouldn’t produce sound. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. I was terrified, humiliated, and ashamed. I’d slipped up so badly I had to get sutures—it had been months since the last time I’d had to go to A&E for that. Four months now—and that time had ended with me back in hospital for a month.
And once again, it was Mum helping me. Like she always did.
25
Open Wounds
Josh
I heard mum’s heels click against the linoleum floor, and I glanced around the corner to check if she was alone. She was—and she was pacing, eyes locked on a document she held in her hands.
‘Mum?’ I shuffled into view, the sleeves of my jumper drawn down so much the hem was bunched in my palms. I hunched over, nervous and afraid.
‘Yes?’ She kept on pacing, kept on reading that document. Whatever it was.
‘Isn’t Andrew home?’
‘He left for a business meeting this morning. He’ll be gone a couple days.’ Back and forth over the floor, eyes glued to the paper.
‘Mum…’ My body ached from the night before, it bore the evidence of his perversio
ns. If she’d just look at me, she’d see my lip bore it as well.
‘I don’t have time right now, Joshua. I have to prepare for this.’
It was like a black hole appeared under me and sucked me in.
She doesn’t have time… No time for me.
‘I’m sorry. I won’t bother you.’
She made a sound, but I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to represent. Maybe relief at me leaving her alone to do whatever she needed to do for work.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’ll see you tonight.’ She brushed past me, not even so much as glancing my way.
It was like I was standing there with a gaping hole in my gut, spilling blood and intestines all over the floor. She wasn’t interested in listening to me, to hearing what I had to say. She couldn’t even look at me.
How could I ever expect her to believe me when she wouldn’t ever give me the time of day? Not a hug, not a squeeze on the shoulder, not a look. She didn’t care what Andrew was doing to me, what he’d done for so long. Maybe she knew? Maybe she’d always known… She didn’t care about me.
I was nothing to her.
I’d tried approaching her and been dismissed. Because her work was more important than me. I was nothing to her, nothing to anyone, except for Andrew—
Who used me for his own pleasure.
That was all I was—all I ever would be. I’d never get away. Not when even my own mum couldn’t give me the time of day so I could tell her. If she did give me the time of day, I doubted she’d even believe me.
Best to keep it hidden, deep down, like I had for so long. Best not let her know. Best to just let Andrew have his way, so it’d be simpler for me. Best to just give in.
Because I was nothing.
I had no one.
Sitting in an exam room waiting for a doctor to deign to come in wasn’t a good feeling. I was cried out, ashamed, and being left to wait for someone to have the time to deal with me was humiliating.
My arm burned from my own treatment earlier, but that pain was nothing to the humiliation I felt at having slipped up so badly.
