The Arrangement

Chapter Nineteen

I thought I'd never come up for air, that it was too much, and I'd been held under for too long, with burning lungs and a heart screaming for air while my brain chants just hold out a little longer.

It's made me hate the darkness, the soft glow of a light follows me through the dead of night now, like this fear of what my brain can conjure up has engraved itself into my bones. The lasting effects of someone else's choices, ones that feel selfish and understandable all at the same time and in the end the why of it all hasn't helped heal the wound.

In fact, it hasn't muted the fires of rage I have begun mastering avoiding, the anger of him leaving should quiet now that we know why. How can I be so mad at him when he went through something unimaginable, the freshman-finger attempt feels like child's play and I don't know the details.

They don't matter, not to me because I'm not the jury or the judge that'll rule on what happened that night and yet the rage festers and it burns in the same way that vodka does as it slides down my throat.

"I keep waiting for Cassie to come skipping in, already drunk beyond any of us" Imogen sighs, dark eyes flickering towards Rosie's closed door and the white robe that hangs on the back of it. "And I refuse to accept any of the excuses she has because the time difference isn't big enough to not call"

"Nah" Rosie sighs, shaking her red curls and smoothing the green dress across her hips as she tilts in the reflection of her long mirror. Hung next to her closet, against the wall facing her bed, I can see the tan expanse of my legs across the mattress at the edge. "I think if I was going through what she is, I would do the same thing without a second thought. We are a support system that she doesn't need right now, she needs to learn who she is on her own, besides, I like the suspense of not knowing what memories she's creating"

It's a different tone for Rosie, one that makes my head tilt in contemplation as Imogen's eyes narrow in her direction from where she sits, spinning in her desk chair. "Not what I expected you to say" Imogen muses honestly, sparkling black boots sending a shimmer of pattern across the cluttered bedroom.

Books line the wonky shelves, stacked against the wall in well-read bundles, half obstructed by the clothes that hang messily around the outskirts of her room. The neatly folded pile at the end of her bed juxtaposed to the chaos that flows around us, I assume it's much the same as her mind.

Sweet packages, condom wrappers and bright colours used to scatter around my room the way it does hers, before it was sucked into the darkness that consumes me.

It's always present now, I think the long road of recovery and acceptance will leave me with the anxious, waiting for the next bad time to come crashing through my life and break all my hope. I worried, after spending Christmas as this empty shell of who I wanted to be that New Year's would be much of the same disappointment. 

I feel okay though, watching with everyone readying around me and cradling the drink Sophie poured me with more reverence than I ever have before. The night of excessive-drinking as I refer to it now, might have been a catalyst in my voyage back into the land of the aware with Hugo being a massive factor.

But like a lot of days recently, it hasn't been something I have wanted to revisits and relive and I can feel the pull of drowning, the constant reminder of my thoughts. Whispering to me that all I need to do is mute the screaming, the images by just taking one more shot.

Sinking deeper into oblivion until I don't remember my name, let alone Bentley and the hole he has carved out of my heart that just won't stop bleeding.

I need this good day, I need the fresh air that comes with surrounding myself with the people that I love and that love me in turn, keeping me grounded in the reminder that I haven't lost everyone.