I sat by the beach, a bottle of Jack in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It was dark, probably nearing midnight but I couldn't sleep after waking up screaming this afternoon. I've spent the night trying to drown away that awful dream. I refuse to think of it. I refuse to remember. It was so awful.
Andrea had filled me in with what I've missed. Apparently, I'd gone and lost my mind for half a day. Imagine how much that fucked with my head after waking up with nothing but the memory of me snorting lines of coke and popping MDMAs while chugging vodka in Andrea's bathroom after waking up being tortured by acute withdrawal symptoms this morning.
I sighed, finishing my cigarette before throwing it in the water and taking a swig from my bottle. I didn't even know what I was doing anymore, if there was a point to any of this. It just felt better to drink while not knowing.
I should be used with this type of shit by now, waking up one day and not knowing what I'd done or where I'd been or how I hurt myself. Maybe it was my mind's way of protecting me, sparing me from whatever sins I committed while I was out of my mind. It was like getting away with murder, no matter how much I washed myself I still felt dirty. I could pretend it wasn't there, but it was, pestering my conscience like an itch that I couldn't reach.
"Don't you think you've had enough already?" Rick said as he sat beside me.
He was a tamer version of my brother. He may not be freaking out but he refused to leave my side. He's been following me around all day.
I lit up another cigarette before answering, "I'm self-medicating."
"You're killing yourself."
I snickered, pressing the back of my hand against my lips to keep myself from spitting out the whiskey and quickly swallowing it down.
"You say that as if I haven't been doing killing myself all this time," I muttered wryly.
"You weren't yesterday," he said quietly. "You were with me the entire time, but you're not now. When are you coming back to me, Angel?"
"Ah, you're insufferable," I said with a laugh. "Can I ask you something?"
"Anything."
"When I die, will you mourn for me?"
He sighed. "You can't ask me that."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want you to fucking die, Angel."
I stared at him for a long moment before looking away. "You know." I paused, blowing out a stream of smoke. "Just cuz I'm playing nice doesn't mean I've flipped. I'm a ticking time bomb, Rick. I'm no better than the girl you met five months ago. Don't forget that."
"I haven't."
I blew out a sharp breath, throwing my cigarette aside and tearing my fingers through my hair.
"When you leave, it's going to hurt like hell."
I caught his hands curl into fists as he remained facing front.
"I'm still here, aren't I?"
"Yeah." I smiled. "But for how long?"
* * *
I've committed a lot of sins in my young life and I was well aware that if I had a soul, it could no longer be salvaged. But as sick and evil as I can be, I always endeavored to keep my word.
Jude taught me at a young age that we were only as good as our word and breaking a promise was the worst betrayal one could commit because a promise meant there was trust. There can never be a promise without trust. That is why I don't ever break a promise.
I prided myself as trustworthy and that despite everything, I was still the honorable and loyal person my brother raised me to be. Every good thing that I've done was the product of the values he had instilled in me, but when I promised him I was going to rehab when we went back to Jersey, I didn't mean it. I just wanted him to stop looking over my shoulder so I could shoot up while everyone was asleep.
I was set up in the bathroom with the belt around my arm and the needle between my fingers when a knock came at the door. I stilled.
"Angel," I heard Rick call. "Let me in."
I screwed my eyes shut, biting the belt tighter between my teeth.
"Don't do it. Please. For me."
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
I pushed the needle into my arm and pulled the syringe, drawing out blood into it before pushing it back into me. It was instant. Everything loosened. The knots in my chest disappeared. The pain in my body vanished. I wasn't afraid anymore.
It felt good. So fucking good. I could finally breathe and it felt wonderful. Everything was wonderful. No more noise. No more pain. No more fear. It was just so fucking wonderful.
There was a voice in the distance but I couldn't make out the words it was saying. I saw Rick's face in front of me and I smiled, holding either side of his head.
"We're okay," I whispered, pressing our lips together.
"You're not okay."
He carried me back to bed and everything felt so wonderful as we laid there. He put his arms around me, whispering something that I couldn't hear. I kept smiling, holding him tighter as I closed my eyes.
"You have to fight, Angel," he said, his voice sounding odd.
"We're okay."
He pulled back, holding either side of my face. His eyes were so beautiful in the dark. So bright. So blue. Like the sea. I could swim in them.
"Why can't you just stay with me, baby?"
I smiled, kissing the corner of his lips. "We're okay."
I took his hand, guiding it to my torso and letting his palm slide over my stomach. It didn't hurt.
"See? I'm okay."
He sighed, pressing his lips to my forehead. "Stop saying you're okay. You're not," he said, crying for some reason.
Why won't he believe me?
"Would you rather that I'm in pain, Rick?" I asked, frowning. "I don't want it. I want this. I need this." He cried and I wiped away his tears, kissing him softly. "You don't have to cry. I'm okay now," I assured him, smiling. "It's okay. We're going to be okay. Trust me."
* * *
He slid his belt along my spine and I tried to stay still as the fear of not knowing where he was going to strike nagged at me. I didn't have to wonder for long as he struck it across my back.
The pain stung against my skin and I struggled not to cry out as I tightened my arms around the pillar. He struck again, this time the buckle bit into my shoulder. I gritted my teeth as I felt blood trickle down my back.
"Filthy whore." He spat, his saliva landing on the back of my head. "You know what filthy whores like you deserve?" he hissed. "This."
And then he swung his belt, striking my back over and over. I didn't count how many times he did it. But one thing I knew, it didn't stop. When he grew tired, he started kicking me.
"Don't you make a sound," he hissed and I pursed my lips as he landed blow after blow on my back with the sole of his shoe.
The pain became so unbearable that I grew numb. I didn't notice I was on the floor until I saw his face above me, a demonic snarl on his mouth as he stomped on me. All over me. Never stopping. Screaming curses. Calling me a whore. A worthless bastard.
A loud scream filled the grand hall and it took me a second to realize that it was me. Screaming at every blow until he started stomping on my face.
"Shut up! Shut up, you stupid bitch!" he snarled. "You always ruin everything! Stupid bitch!"
I couldn't breathe anymore and I realized it was because of the blood. I could taste it. It filled my mouth. My nose. The floor.
I was going to die. I could feel it as the darkness threatened to take over me. I didn't fight it. I didn't scream anymore. I laid there and accepted the death my father was mercilessly giving me.
"Angel! Wake up!" a voice called but it wasn't his.
No. I don't want to wake up. Kill me. Kill me. Please.
As the voice grew more urgent, the image of my father stomping his foot on my body faded until only the pitch black of my closed eyes remained.
Why won't I just fucking die already?
I was breathing heavily as I forced my eyes to open, seeing Rick's worried face through the tears that tampered with my sight.
"Kill me," I whispered, my body wracked with pain of that memory on my body.
He cupped my cheek, wiping my tears away. I closed my eyes again, relenting and letting the painful sobs break out of me.
Rick didn't tell me not to cry. Or that it was okay. He didn't say anything. He just held me as if it was supposed to make the pain go away. It fucking didn't. He wasn't heroin.
By the time I returned to my senses, I realized he had moved us to the tub, laying in freezing cold water that numbed the pain. But it could never be enough. The pain never stopped. Never.
He was stroking my bare back as I laid on his chest, his eyes staring through the mirror in front of us. He had an unreadable expression on his face and I didn't bother trying to dig deeper. I was so fucking tired.
"Who is it?" he suddenly asked.
"Who?" I replied, holding his gaze through the mirror.
"The person haunting you in your sleep."
I stiffened, my hand curling into a fist as I was reminded of that dream. I had forgotten when that was. He's beaten me so many times for so little faults that I couldn't tell which was which anymore. They only had one thing in common besides of him. The pain never went away.
"Why won't you tell me?" he pressed when I didn't answer him.
I lowered my eyes, resting the side of my head on his chest.
"Because you'll leave me if I do."
"I've had more chances to leave already, Angel. Whatever it is you're hiding, it won't get me to take those chances," he said, his voice void of emotion and yet I could somehow tell he was angry.
"Why is that?" I mumbled, placing my hand flat on the left side of his chest, feeling the steady beating of his heart. "Why haven't you left?"
He sighed, placing his hand over mine and twining our fingers together. "Because I can't stand the thought of leaving you." He kissed the side of my head, holding my hand tightly. "I want to talk to you about something."
I already knew what it was before he said it.
"I don't want to."
He sighed. "Angel, you need help."
"I don't want to," I repeated.
"You have to try. You can't keep going like this. It's hurting me as much as it's hurting you. It's hurting everyone."
"Then I'll stop," I said, looking up at him. "I'll stop drinking. I'll stop doing drugs. I won't do any of it anymore. Just..." I pursed my lips, panic coming to me. "Just don't make me go. Please."
He frowned, holding my cheek. "I want you to be better. I can't stand it anymore. Seeing you like this hurts too much."
I bit my lip, seeing how it truly was hurting him. "Gramps made me go."
No one knew. Jude probably didn't know either. Gramps told me no one had to know. It wasn't their business to know. He made me go after I attempted suicide. He couldn't risk the media finding out so he rehabilitated me in his house.
He brought in every top billing medical professional to help me and they made me do all these things that hurt so much. They wouldn't give me anything to make the pain better. They just made it worse. Making me talk about everything. Using every type of therapy on me. Hypnosis sucked the most.
When I told Gramps I couldn't do it anymore, he said the exact same thing Rick said.
'Seeing you like this hurts too much, little Angel.'
So I did it for him. I endured an entire summer of grueling work to be better. It was so painful. Giving everything up. Letting them use me as some type of guinea pig. The shrinks were having a field day with me, doing physchological tests on me and constantly fucking with my mind. But I did it. I was clean.
For six months.
It made shit worse.
It took one sniff of alcohol and coke to have it all flushing down the toilet. I realized, the pain wasn't worth it to be sober.
I couldn't do it again. I couldn't go through all the steps and fail again. I stopped speaking to my grandfather when I relapsed. I never saw him again. I refused every attempt that he made. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't look at him and see how much I was hurting him to see me like this. And then he died and whatever hope that was left for me died with him.
I told Rick all of this. He listened.
I hated talking about my last summer with my grandfather. It made my scars feel so fresh that they'd hurt more just remembering how he used to redo the bandages and apply medicine on my injuries before I slept after an entire day of doing activities to make me better. And he'd tell me how he was so proud of me for what I was doing. I never let him hear me crying at night, wishing I could stick a needle in my arm to make all the pain go away.
When I was done talking, it felt like I was going to suffocate. Rick seemed to be absorbing all the shit that I just unloaded on him. Shit that I never had the guts to tell anyone. Because I was a coward and it's been haunting me since my grandfather died.
How I failed him at the one simple thing he wanted from me. To be better. Because I knew, I knew he died because of that. He was already dying and I had to go ahead and dig his grave by going back.
"Don't make me do it again," I pleaded.
I couldn't stand the thought of going through that much pain to be better only to fail again. It hurt too much the first time.
He breathed out harshly, holding either of my head. The pity, I saw it in his eyes. I hated it.
"Just promise me one thing."
I nodded, willing to do anything just to not have to go through it again.
"Don't die."
"I won't," I said, trying so hard to mean that promise. Just that one promise.