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CHAPTER THIRTY ONE second thoughts
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THE WARM FEELING of water running down my back drowned out any previous thought I had. Ever since Rafe and I spoke in the kitchen, I didn't want to think about anything. He had noticed my lack of focus, and him pointing it out only made matters worse.
I was never the type of person who liked having things pointed out about them. Whether it was my emotional distance, my alcohol abuse, or the fact that I simply looked upset, I hated having any matter spoken out loud.
Most of all, I hated when someone would tell me I'm not 'myself'. I never understood that phrase, seeing as I wouldn't get close enough to anyone to let them know what I really was like. I was obsessive, manic, and frankly a person that people shouldn't get close to. I knew that very well, hence why no one on the island would ever grow close to even tolerating me.
Yet, people still persisted.
The Pogues still persisted.
Rafe still persisted.
My body turned to face the shower, submerging myself completely under the water. I didn't want to think of him, I lied to myself. I knew I did. Yet, maybe if I continued repeating it in my mind, then one day it'd become true.
I trailed over each mark he left with my soaped-up palm, the floral-scented liquid masking over them for a brief second. It would be another lie for me to say that I didn't enjoy the bruises, since it signified that I was the person he gave them to. It was masochistic for me to think that way, but I would preserve anything he left behind as long as it meant I could treasure what we had.
After another series of thoughtless moments, I stepped out of the marble-interior shower, struggling to see clear amongst the steam I had created. The single white towel I brought into the bathroom wrapped around my body, leaving my hair to run down my exposed back. When I was younger, there wasn't a feeling I detested more than that of wet hair.
Little did I know what other feelings there would be for me to hate later down the line.
I left a path of soaked footprints leading to my bedroom, wanting to get myself ready as fast as I could. It was inconsiderate for me to treat Tannyhill like I normally would treat my home, but that word seemed to lose its meaning with time. At this point in time, I didn't even know where 'home' was.
After the horror I witnessed a few weeks back with May, it definitely wasn't the same house I had lived in for the 17 years of my life. It was far from the Figure 8 mansion I found myself in currently, even if I was spending the majority of my days here.
Home wasn't a building, per se, but more a state of mind.
I shut the door behind me once I stepped into the barely decorated guest room. The only part of these 4 walls that slightly resembled me was the clothing scrambled over the floor, which had now disappeared by some bizarre occurrence. Knowing I was the only person who was staying in this room, I stared at the neatly organised interior that replaced the familiar mess.
