Chapter Text
Bella POV
The walk from my bedroom to the bathroom down the hall takes an hour. The hall stretches, seeming endless. I stumble forward, bouncing off the walls like a pinball, unable to keep a straight path. After I reach the door, my body tumbles through it without grace.
I grip the edge of the sink, using all of my strength to keep my body steady, causing my knuckles to whiten. I can’t even bring myself to pick my head up. My graze fixed downward, focusing on my toes, displaying dark purple toe nail polish, chipped and uneven.
Wow. You’ve really let yourself go.
It takes everything to lift my head.
The woman staring back at me. Is a stranger.
I do not recognize her.
Get it together, Isabella.
I turn on the faucet, setting the water temperature as low as it can go. The water bites at my skin as I cup my hands under the running water and splash my face. Snapping myself back into my physical existence. I take a deep breath through my nose, and exhale slowly out of my mouth.
Move.
I quickly exit the bathroom to take the journey back to my bedroom. Scrambling for an excuse, anything to get him out the door.
I started my period. No.
I need to get homework done. No, stupid. You can’t even say a coherent sentence, let alone do calculus.
Nothing sticks.
I sigh. Swing my door open, deciding to take the problem head on.
He is still there.
A tall russet toned man lays in my bed, arms folded behind his head, resting it in his hands, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxers.
He grins at me, flashing his perfect white teeth.
“I was thinking you fell in or something, Bells” he says, laughing as I step back into the room.
Bells.
What. The. Fuck.
White hot rage engulfs me entirely. My fists clinch at my side, nails digging into my palms. I can feel my expression harden, sharpen into something carved out of pure rage.
I open my mouth.
“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
He freezes, eyes wide, like a deer caught in headlights.
“FUCKING GO! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD IF YOU DONT GET OUT OF MY HOUSE RIGHT NOW, I-”
Without another word, he springs out of my bed. Grabbing his clothes, not bothering to put them on, and bolts out the door. He’s gone in seconds.
I am frozen.
My feet feel anchored to the floor, like they have been drilled into place by 8-foot screws. My mouth hangs wide open, my eyes wide. Still catching up to what just happened.
A sharp sting gathers at the corners of my eyes, everything blurs.
Then it hits.
My knees weaken, and I fall to the carpet. I fold over myself, face buried in my hands as if I can hide from it. From everything.
Tears flow faster now, unstoppable.
Tears break into sobs.
My chest heaves with each breath, threatening to cave in on itself. Every inhale shutters, every exhale shakes, my whole body collapsing with the weight of it.
Of everything.
…
After an unmeasurable amount of time, I manage to pick myself off of the floor and crawl into bed. Disappointed that my high has faded, and that I am a little more sober than I would like to be, I reach over to my nightstand and open its drawer.
The bottle is right where I left it.
Waiting for me.
I flick the cap off, it hits the wall somewhere across the room. I don’t look.
Then I drink.
The familiar sensation flows down my throat, sharp and unforgiving. I do not stop. I swallow as much as I can force down. When I can’t take anymore, I slam the bottle back onto the nightstand. A loud noise in a very quiet room.
I fall onto the mattress, flat on my back, facing the ceiling.
The fan spins in endless circles.
I watch it, waiting for the feeling to come, for everything to blur, to soften, then disappear.