Mine are full of darkness, of disease, of being beholden to the worst kind of terror.
I try to find my happy place, I try to ease my racing thoughts, I try, I try, I try.
I’m so fucking sick of trying.
A tear falls down my cheek, my throat feeling bruised as my senses catch up with my brain.
Michael was here. His hands around my throat. My life flashing before my eyes.
Except, my life only showed me one man.
The one currently asleep in the chair beside me.
Cal.
He’s my life-line. My strength.
I’ve been fooling myself for so long, that I had blinkers on. I ended up in relationships with men that were entirely unsuitable for me. Tom. Michael. Both of them deceived me. Both of them lied to me. And both of them hurt my already-bruised heart.
The tears continue to fall, coming thick and fast.
I don’t try to stop them, I need to let them go, relieve some of the stress that threatens to pull me even further into a black hole that wants to rule me.
And with the tears comes the sobs that rack my body and make my ribcage silently scream from the marks that will mar my body forever.
Tonight, Michael tried to kill me. I always knew that he would. He warned me, but I thought that I could fight him, fight my tormentor. But I failed. I let him get so deep in my brain that I failed in protecting myself.
I don’t know what happened after I passed out. I mean, I know I’m alive, but a part of me wishes that he had ended it all. Ended my suffering and the pain that shows no signs of abating.
My sobs become louder, echoing around the room.
“Hey,” I hear Cal say, but I can’t look at him, I keep my head hanging in the shame that engulfs me.
I feel his weight by the side of me as he sits on the bed.
“Lucy, look at me,” he says softly, and the softness of his voice makes me cry harder. He shouldn’t be being nice to me.
I fucked up.
I made the wrong choices.
Me, me, me.
I shake my head, my tears dripping onto the thin sheet that covers my legs.
“Baby, please,” he pleads, and the pain in his voice jumpstarts something in me. I slowly raise my head until my eyes lock with his. His handsome face is blurry, but I can still see every single emotion in his blue pools. I can see the worry that lingers there, and I hate that I am the one causing it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. God, I should just have that phrase tattooed on my forehead, I’ve used it so fucking often.
“Shhh,” he says as his hands move up to cup either side of my face. His thumbs gently wipe the tears that continue to fall from my cheeks. “Lucy, you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I do,” I say, as I bite my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. It hurts to talk, the pain radiating through my throat from the inner bruising that Michael has caused, and my voice still comes out as a whisper.
“No, baby, you don’t.”
“Please, Cal, don’t try and make out that I didn’t play a role in all of this.”
It’s my fault.
