My brother knocked on my door shortly after my arousal.
"Come in." I said, softly, struggling over a pair of jeans. He entered the room and I had one leg of my pants on, up to my knees.
"Tay, don't do that by yourself!" Was what he said.
"Why shouldn't I?" I said, "Just because I got hurt I'm suddenly incompetent to put on my own clothes?"
"I didn't say that... it's just... I don't want you to hurt yourself if you're having trouble."
"Well, I'm fine." I muttered, and began yanking on the leg of my pants. Twice I tried to lift the other leg enough to get my foot through the other leg of my pants, and I couldn't lift my foot more than an inch off the floor without completely losing my balance. The tears were streaming down my face, and Isaac shut the door behind him.
"You don't look fine to me..." He said softly, as he gently supported my weight. With a bit more struggle, I managed to get the pants on, but afterward, I had to sit and rest on my bed. There, I cried at my feeling of utter worthlessness. I'd never been so helpless. I'd never had something blow up in my face as this did, now. For all of the pain I had lain on everyone else, I couldn't help but think that I deserved it.
"Tay, come down and eat some lunch with me." He said, laying a gentle hand on my shoulder. "You should eat, I don't think you have in like, two days."
Longer than that, I thought. I felt disgusting. Like a worm. A centipede. A maggot.
He helped me put a shirt on. I had a bandage around my chest, and the bruises made it painful, but I had to cover myself. I was too ashamed to show my mess, even around my own house in front of my own family. It was better to cover it up, and pretend nothing had happened at all. That's all I wanted to do. And I didn't want to have to talk to anyone while I pretended.
I ate. My mother and my brother, refusing to allow me to do anything. "No, Taylor, don't get up... what would you like? I'll get it for you."
"I feel sick." I said, putting down my fork. "I can't eat anything. I feel sick."
"Just a little more," said Mom, "And I promise you can stop."
I had barely eaten four bites of my meal. I ate slowly for another hour, trying to appease them, trying to pass the time. Finally, she took my plate, and I stood up for a glass of water.
"What do you want, Tay? I can get it for you."
"Jesus Christ." I said, fed up, "Stop treating me like a baby or an old person! I'm not fucking helpless, okay?"
"Taylor, I know... I'm just..."
I didn't want them to wait on me, because it only emphasized what everyone knew. I was less of a person because of what they knew. I imagined the images they had in their minds of me: subservient, on my hands and knees. Like a woman, I thought. A little girl. Was it really like that? I had run the situation through my mind a hundred times until I couldn't tell what was and what wasn't. Until it didn't really hurt that much. It just seemed so preventable, so stupid. I cried and cried about it until it just didn't seem all that bad anymore. There were people starving and getting beaten and raped every day. There were people in abusive relationships, there were people without a family to care about them, there were people who didn't even have a bed to sleep on. There were people whose lives were something terrible and out of their control. I didn't have it all that bad. In the end, I had brought it all upon myself. It was my fault, and I didn't need help.
"Just leave me alone." I had said. I left the kitchen and returned to my bedroom. My hideout. My parents and my brother visited me several times throughout the day, and finally I just stopped answering the door. And just because I hurt so bad, I spent my days and nights smoking until I was laughing or passed out. I was tired of thinking, anyway. It was much better to stop thinking. Thinking just provoked me to try and gather words, and words, no matter how hard I tried, aside from trite responses to questions or requests, would not come. The more they banged on the door and begged to be let in, begged for me to come down to dinner, begged to help me out, the more I just wanted to keep them out. I felt like a plague to the household, and I just wanted them to leave me alone. Forget about me. They were making such a big deal out of nothing. I just wanted to smoke my pot, and stare at the white plaster of my ceiling in peace. In silence. In darkness. I didn't want to ever have to feel a thing again.
I couldn't tell how many days it had been. Three. Four. Maybe five, when I had decided to call her. The headaches I had been having that made the simple sound of a person's voice painful had finally faded, and finally I was able to pick up the phone. I hoped she didn't hate me for waiting so long, I hadn't even had the time to consider the possibility of even seeing her. But time was running short before I left, and I needed to say a better goodbye. I wanted to apologize for what had happened, but I didn't have the balls. Though I missed her desperately, I couldn't get my head to stop pounding long enough to even tolerate the sound of a dial tone, much less face her. I was afraid of what she'd have to say. Afraid that what I had never meant to do would hurt her, and change us. I thought about our drive home, over and over. Our desperate sad kisses and the deafening silence between us. Could she still love me at all after what I did? Was she still waiting, at all? She must've thought I hated her. I knew it. And she wouldn't want to speak to me at all.
I dialed the number several times, and hung up several times before it could even ring. When finally, I allowed it to ring and a stranger answered, I felt ill with fear and guilt.
"Hello?" Came the other voice. I nearly hung up. I took a deep breath and huffed into the phone, unintentionally. "Hello?" A second time.
"Hi..." I said weakly.
"Hi...?"
"Is, um, is Annissa around?"
"Taylor?"
"Yeah, it's me."
"It's Shannon. She left about an hour ago to take a walk. She just wanted some fresh air, she should be back soon. How are you?"
"I'm alright." I said, "I'm sorry I haven't called. It's just... I'm just..."
"I know, Taylor. I understand. Listen, I'll have her call you. I don't think she went too far... I think she might have gone to check in with Beth, if you want to stop by the store..."
"Okay, I'll try to find her there." I said, softly, "But if she comes in, tell her she knows where to call." I hung up the phone. I pulled on my clothes and slowly walked down the stairs, my cell phone clasped securely to my jeans waist. "Ma, I'm going out."
"Where?"
"To see Annissa."
"Why?"
I was frustrated with my family, lately. They hated her so much, and they didn't even know what had happened. "We're leaving in two days, and I would like to say goodbye."
"I can't believe you'd go, after all of this."
"She's staying with a friend. I promise you, I'll be fine. I just have to go. Please understand that. Please..."
"Would you like me to drive you?" She said.
"No, I should go alone. I won't be long. I promise."
Though my muscles still screamed, I got into the car and drove to the store. Beth was at the counter counting money, and the store was dead, as usual. She looked up at me when the bells at the door announced my arrival.
"Have you seen Annissa today?" I asked, softly. Fully conscious of the bruises you could see on my face and my arms. She seemed surprised at the question.
"No, why? She's called in sick all week..."
"Oh..." I said, "I haven't heard from her, and Shannon said she thought maybe she'd come by here..."
"Well, I haven't seen her. I hope she's okay. She must be sick as a dog. She's never been out of work like this before."
Worry struck me. Beth was right. She was always at work, even when she didn't go to school. There was a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't help but feel somewhat at fault. If it weren't for me, none of this would have ever happened. There would be no black eyes or bruises.
"I'll go look for her elsewhere, then, I guess. But if you see her, tell her I was by, please." I said.
I drove all over town. I checked our park, our favorite coffee shop, downtown, and finally, I resigned myself to a drive back to Shannon's house. She had to have come back by now, it had been nearly two hours. On the way to Shannon's house I passed by her's. I drove by slowly and peered at it cautiously, suddenly wondering if she had stopped by there. Maybe to pick up some things? There were no cars in the driveway, but the front door was open and the porch light on. It struck me as immediately odd, and I stopped, knowing that this is where she had come. I parked my car across the street, and I crossed her lawn, tiptoeing as if my silence would keep me from being seen in the broad daylight. I was paralyzed with fear as I entered the house. I knew her father couldn't be home - but I feared his return. What would he do to me now? Surely, I was dead, but I couldn't wait. I needed to see her. There was an urgency, now. I needed to pull her away from this terrible house and say that I was sorry.
The house was a mess. The television was broken, things were strewn everywhere, and all of the telephone jacks and outlets were pulled out of the wall in wiry electrical mess. From down the hall I could hear the sound of music playing. Bjork's "Hyper-Ballad." I smiled, sweetly. It was her favorite song. The song she had played for me in the car when we had first known each other, and countless times since... the words often on the tip fo her tongue, singing to me. She must've come to pick up some of her records. I mouthed the words unconsciously, having learned the song by heart.
"Ani!" I said, and walked down the hallway toward her bedroom. Still cautious with my steps, discovering that my mess from the weekend prior was still on the floor of the hallway. The door to her bedroom was open, so I entered without thought, and I only found her stereo, sitting on the floor, plugged in. Stains still remained from the events before, and like the rest of her house, much of her room was torn to pieces. Figurines broken. Books strewn everywhere. The stereo was even plugged into a naked socket, and the table it had been sitting on was broken. It frightened me. I grew nervous, fearing that suddenly I would turn around and there he would be - ready to finish what he had started. Or maybe, to do it again.
"Annissa?" The knots in my stomach were twisting and tying, and I could feel my lip trembling with fear. "Where are you?" I began checking rooms, pushing open doors to find the same sight in every room, and every room was devoid of any human presence. I started to get frantic, looking in closets and calling her name, only to find them empty. At first, I thought maybe she was hiding, and then, I wondered something worse. Had he taken her away?
It was then that I saw the water and light leaking out from underneath the bathroom door. I froze. I stood in that spot in the hallway and I stared at the floor, with the water spreading across it, for a long time before I dared to open the door. Maybe she had just fallen asleep in the tub. Or maybe she accidentally left the water running when she had to leave. As ridiculous as it sounded, even then, I wanted it to be true.
I walked up to the door and I knocked softly, shaking all over. The door fell open with my gentle knock, and I peaked inside slowly, "Annissa? Are you in here?"
At first I couldn't see anything. Only that the floor was flooded. And then I saw the empty orange bottles. When I opened the door to that bathroom, a breeze of hot steam hit me in the face. I had to cover my face to protect myself from it, it surprised me so much. And then I saw the blood. All over the floor. Red in the water. Dripping from the bathtub, spewing red streams like some malicious curdling beast. I saw her and I couldn't speak or scream. She was dead. Bruised, bleeding, motionless, Dead.
I collapsed to my knees in a puddle of bloody water, and covered my ears, as if the sound of the running water would make the image that came with it go away. And the tub's splish, splish, splish, as more and more red water spilled over the edges. I crawled up beside the tub cautiously and I reached out to touch her body, half expecting for her to spring awake. I shook her gently, and then harder. Her eyes were wide open, and I could see only the white. I closed her eyelids gently, and in her hand I saw the silver gleam of a razorblade. I pried it away from her and then released her, allowing her limp body to sink deeper into the red water. I recoiled with horror, hitting my head on the sink behind me.
I couldn't make a sound. I couldn't feel any pain. I couldn't even tell what was real and what wasn't. My hands were freezing cold and I was soaked in red water. What did that even mean? My vision became blurred, and slowly I stumbled out of the room. The house was looming and huge with broken, fucked up secrets. My sense of reality had been instantly distorted. The song on the stereo repeated.
I go through all this before you wake up. So I can feel happier to be safe again with you.
I stuttered and stumbled down the hallway, and I barely walked two steps before grief tripped me. I started to vomit in a way that made me feel as if the stomach itself was trying to force its way back through my esophagus. I couldn't move. Every muscle was frozen as I crouched and threw up all over the floor and myself. Is This The End?
It may have been an hour. It may have been two. The front door was wide open, I had forgotten about that, and I was lying in the hallway somewhere not too far from where I had been uncontrollably sick. Somebody came. A neighbor. When they asked me questions, I couldn't answer, but they figured it out, following the trail of footprints and bloody water. The police came, but I didn't realize it until someone took me outside and I saw the red and blue lights. I was trembling all over, and I couldn't walk.
They wanted me to talk. They kept asking me, but I could only hear half of what they were saying. The other half seemed to be blotted out by white noise in my head. I was fading in and out of consciousness, in and out of hysteria. For a long time a man sat next to me and prodded me for any kind of information he could get me to spill. Anything at all.
"Sir, if you could just tell us your name so we can contact some of your loved ones... Sir, anything? Do you have your wallet?"
"She's bleeding in the bath tub." The words escaped without my consent, "I wanted to say sorry... and I found her bleeding."
From my sitting position I collapsed forward again, retching on the wood panels of the porch beneath my feet. Before I passed out I remember staring at the space between my shoes. My mind caught movement in the ridges and knots. A scene played out before me of life: happy parents soothing their crying children, and tire swings tied to trees, blowing in the breeze, which made the sunspots scatter chaotically, and shatter my scene. I reached out to touch it, grab a hold of something solid in the mess of lines and shadows, but I saw and felt nothing.
I could hear the song out her window as I sat in the back of a police car, riding to a station.
It's early morning
Noone is awake
I'm back at my cliff
Still throwing things off
I listen to the sounds they make
On their way down
I follow with my eyes 'til they crash
I imagine what my body would sound like
Slamming against those rocks
And when it lands will my eyes be closed or open?