The Scars She Hides

Part 23 - Small Tasks

CHARLOTTE

I could still hear Holden's bike growing fainter and fainter by the time I reached my dorm. Each step up the stairs was another weight pressing down on my shoulders.

Step.

"He was just so... big."

Step.

"Like Bronson."

Step.

"Like me."

Step.

The disgust on Holden's face had made my stomach twist. Disgust for me or disgust for himself - it didn't matter. I had caused that. I had caused some feeling of unease, some sort of shameful and awful, untrue and unnecessary feeling to leak into Holden. Into his life, his head, his home. The home he had invited me to. He had asked me to stay because he knew I was scared to be alone this weekend. His parents had tried to take me in, barely knowing the high school kid their son had taken to hanging out with.

I stopped in front of my dorm door, sharp thoughts and feelings whirling and rushing around and around, circling my throat and down my spine.

Small tasks bobbed to the surface of my self destructive pool.

Open door.

Not a task to be underestimated apparently, as I flipped my key for the third time and tried to wiggle the lock into cooperation. The sound of the door key echoed the sound of Holden's bike key, starting the loud engine, practically spitting disappointment in my decision to leave. I slipped inside and flipped the lock back into place behind me.

Walk to room.

Again, another task not to be underestimated. Tiptoeing past the small den, I tried to make as little noise as possible while creeping into my room. While I hadn't seen any evidence of my roommate being an avid party-goer, it was still close to 5 am on a Saturday morning. There was no need to bang around and wake her up on the weekend.

Change out for bed.

... accomplishing ⅔'s of my list was impressive at this level of sleep deprivation and self deprecation. I chose not to be an overachiever and settle for a job mostly well done.

I flipped my own bedroom door lock into place before I kicked my shoes off and collapsed onto the bed. I layed there sinking deeper and deeper into my own thoughts. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I just function around men? Or at least pretend to function around men? It was 1 year. 1 lousy year out of 17 other perfectly fine years. It could not have affected me THIS much. I should be over it by now. Henry was a nightmare. But he was dead. I shouldn't let this keep affecting me. I was weak.

I pressed my face deeper into the mattress, smothering my ability to breathe. Or maybe I already couldn't breathe and now I had an excuse to not breathe.

I was weak before all of this. Henry shouldn't have been able to do those things to me. I should have called mom and told her sooner. Why didn't I call her? Why didn't I call the police? Why was I so scared to leave? I could have left. Any time I could have left.

I deserved it for staying. If I was too weak to run away I deserved it. I ruined his life. I deserve it. I deserved it. I deserve it -

I

Do

I deserve it

I deserve

It.

I

DO.

I deser-

A moan cuts through the frantic train of runaway thoughts. I freeze on the bed.