The Loudest Minds

Chapter 6

That little voice in her head pushed and prodded and shoved.

They died because of you. They blame you. Everyone blames you. You should have died with them. You deserve to die now.

This is what you deserve.

Murderer.

Rose didn't realize her eyes were screwed shut until they slid open slowly. Her vision was blurry. The sharp pressure increased on her wrist, but her hands shook. Why wouldn't the skin break? Why wouldn't her hands stop shaking? This was supposed to be quick. It should be over by now.

Her eyes locked on the tiny, welcoming sliver of steel. Comforting. Cold. Deadly.

She wanted to throw up again.

Coward.

With a gravelly, muffled scream that rose from the very depths of her gut, she flung the razor across the room. It hit the mirror and marred its pristine surface with a long, narrow scratch before clattering to the tiles and sliding across the floor. It came to a stop in front of the door. The door that creaked and strained under Caroline's persistent pounding.

Rose brought her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, clasping her freezing hands together. No longer possessing the strength to hold up her body, she fell against the side of the tub. Its cold, smooth surface brought goosebumps to her skin, but soothed her feverish cheeks. Her fingers weakened as well and released each other; fingertips grazing along the ceramic curve of the tub's bottom.

The relentless banging abruptly ceased. The air was thick and smothering.

Suddenly the door burst open with a bang, nearly flying off its hinges. A fleeting image of Jack Nicholson, ax in hand, crossed Rose's mind. Here's Johnny!

It wasn't Johnny, nor was it Jack Nicholson. Caroline stood there, leg raised, foot flat against the space where the door had just stood vertically. So much for the lock.

She let her leg fall and started rushing towards the tub, but faltered at the sight of the razor sitting there; docile and quiet and shimmering in the pale yellow light. Rose saw it too, from the corner of her eye, and she could not stop her eyes from being drawn to it.

There are no dangerous weapons; there are only dangerous men.

Dangerous, dangerous girl. A danger to herself. A danger to others. The razor would not harm on its own.

Caroline's gaze traveled slowly across the floor from the blade to Rose's pale face. Her voice was soft and raspy. "Rose?"

Rose's eyes were dead, and her fixed stare would not leave that damn razor. Caroline picked it up cautiously between two fingers, as if it were a wild thing with gnashing teeth and the eyes of a cornered animal. But the razor would not hurt her; could not touch her.

She need look no further than Rose to find a feral, desperate soul.

Caroline tossed the razor in the sink before approaching the bathtub. Rose felt warm arms envelope her as shadows closed in on her vision. You must have never loved them; you can't even die for them now, she thought to herself, just as she succumbed to the darkness of exhaustion.

********

Her tata stood there at the counter holding a fresh cup of coffee, his silver-threaded hair ruffled and large dark circles adorning his bright eyes.

A half-smile grew on his rugged face, not quite agreeing with his perpetually weary expression. He reached out and ruffled Rose's hair, and her 8-year old self let out a squeal of protest. His grin stretched wider.