Yours Truly ❁ n.k.h

• chapter twenty three •

"Gauze, peroxide, a sink, a blue shower curtain, and a black coat."

I looked down at my coat and pulled the zipper down. Heat still swirled throughout my chest in uncomfortable streams. I nipped at my sleeves until the material fell from my body.

"Gauze, peroxide, the, uh. The sink. The shower curtain. And the... my black coat." I listed again in an attempt to calm my nerves.

My body felt like it was fucking overheating. I tried. I tried my best to just breathe and calm down but it's like the more I thought about things, the more my head started to hurt, and the more irate I became.

It was the worst cycle.

"Sweat, um... I feel hot. Fuck, I feel hot. And my head hurts." I whispered to myself, beginning to pace in the small bathroom.

There was only but so much space between the tub and the door and Angel's toys were taking up most of it. I stepped over everything anxiously, wanting to kick it all.

"I don't even know what I hear, I just hear silence, I hear myself talking, I hear the toys fucking crunching or whatever, I don't know."

My head was still fucking pulsing and it made me want to punch something. I wish I didn't have this stupid fucking ache or all of these feelings with nowhere for them to go. It all felt useless and I felt even more fucking trapped knowing I couldn't leave.

Maybe if I could leave I could take a walk until everyone left or went to see someone. Or just go to the store. Anything to not be here. I feel like I'm going fucking crazy right now in this house.

I'm the one who got my head repeatedly bashed into a wall yet I have to be civil. I'm not allowed to be angry or lash out yet everyone else can just accuse me of things and say shit that gets me out of character. I'm the one taking the hits all the fucking time.

"Sweat, and pine. I smell sweat and pine." I ranted again.

I'm fucking sick of it. Why do people always expect me to be this fucking saint and do the right thing? It just sets them up for disappointment when I have to look them in the face and say I'm not.

There's just this grace that everyone else seems to get. They say fucked up things and it's alright because they were having a bad day. Or, they hit me because their emotions got the best of them, and it doesn't matter if the action itself was wrong because the intentions were well.

But something really traumatic happens and I get scared and I have it thrown back in my face time and time again. How am I supposed to get better or right my wrongs when no one's giving me the room to correct it?

It wasn't right for me to leave, I know that. I know it was fucked up of me, I'm not saying that shit is okay. But I was scared! I've never been a fucking parent or been through anything like that before, no one's ever taught me how to deal with something like that. I sat there for hours waiting for her to come out of surgery and I just felt so fucking useless.

My mind kept telling me it didn't make sense for me to be there if I couldn't do anything to stop it or reverse it. There was just this constant voice in my head saying to just leave for a while, give myself some time to decompress, and then come back. But every time I started to turn back, it's like something would stop me. I'd start imagining these scenarios of walking back in or getting a call that Angel didn't make it or some news like she was paralyzed.