SKINTIGHT (Watty Awards 2024)

Chapter 22

Rio

"How long did it take you?" Violet asks. She's sitting beside me on the edge of the mattress, both of us looking out at the stars reflecting over the lake. We can barely see them through the fog on the window, but it's easier than looking at the art surrounding us. "How long did it take for you to get better?"

"A long time," I tell her. "Years, probably. But I was a kid, so it's different."

"How old were you again?"

"I started trying when I was 10, but I didn't get my shit together until I was around 14 or so."

"Damn."

"And even then, it never really goes away. I still get that feeling — like my emotions are bigger than my body. It gets better, but it's never fully gone, and I don't think it ever will be."

"Fuck," she shakes her head. "I don't want to be like this forever."

"You won't," I say. "It'll get easier."

"It's been years and it's only getting worse."

"That's okay. That doesn't mean it can't get better."

"I don't see how."

"You learn. You learn to manage it — to express yourself in different ways."

"I just—," she shakes her head. "I don't want to be this person. I don't want to be angry all the time, and I don't want to keep doing this shit to my family. I don't wanna keep doing this shit. I just don't know how to stop. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," I tell her. "You're not an angry person or a violent person or any of the other shit they try to tell you."

"Then why am I like this?! Dani and Isaiah don't do this shit."

"That's because they haven't gone through what you have. They haven't had to deal with the things you have. If they did, they might react the same way."

"They wouldn't."

"That's fine, too. Everyone handles things differently. That doesn't mean one way is better than the other. It's just different."

"But I'm hurting everyone around me. I can't control it. It makes me feel fucking crazy, you know?"

"You're not crazy at all. Your reactions are totally understandable given what's been going on. It's reasonable, even. I'd be surprised if anyone would've handled things better. I know I wouldn't have."

"What would you have done?" She eyes me intently.

I turn away from her. I don't know what to say. I know exactly what I would have done, but she can't know what that is. She shouldn't have to hear it. But I don't want to lie, either. She doesn't deserve that. But I don't know how else to respond. Now isn't the time for the truth.

"I don't think I would've survived," I say. It's not the full truth, but it's not a lie. I wouldn't have survived. I wouldn't have made it as far as she has, going through what she has. I would've ended it a long time ago — in entirely the wrong way. The worst way.

She stays silent. Her knees are tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She scratches her shoulder absentmindedly, clearly lost in thought. I want to know what she's thinking. It can't be anything good. Just a few hours ago, she was laughing and joking with me. She was happy. I don't know how she could even muster a smile. With everything that's been going on, I wouldn't blame her for collapsing. I'm surprised she didn't cry when she was telling me all those stories. She didn't even flinch. It's been going on so long, it's become normal. She's desensitized. All the things Jack has done to her, and all the bullshit excuses he's given her... she's used to it.