𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 (𝟏)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟎

My fingers barely skim over the red, irritated skin on my arms in an attempt to soothe the burn. I scrubbed my arms raw so many times, I eventually stopped counting.

And I still felt icky. Like his blood was still on me, Permanently etched onto my skin, sinking into every layer, every gland, every vessel-until I couldn't feel anything but it. I remember digging his blood out from between my nails, suffocating in the hot steam surrounding me.

But no amount of physical pain could match the amount of guilt I was feeling—drowning in. It was tormenting me from the inside out, a constant thought in the back of my head. It was bad, I was feeling so bad; I couldn't leave this damned cabin.

I studied the Cabin, the wooded planks lining the walls. I followed the lines to the roof, golden Lamps hung low on the ceiling, casting a dewy hue of orange onto me. Tiana had decorated with white and light interior to contrast the dark wood that lines the walls and floors.

There was two beanbags pushed together, one grey and the other a baby blue. They were stationed infront of a window, two navy blue curtains hung above the window, and I could see trees. Big, stocky trees filled with loose moss and green leaves.

I trailed my eyes to the bed in one corner of the room: unmade and messy, it had grey bedding and pillows splayed everywhere. This side of the room was much messier and lazy than the other.

The other had dark purple bedding, pillows neatly stacked against each other to contrast the tidy and neat corner. To the side of the bed was a small table with a bland lamp.

I exhaled a shaky breath, fiddling my fingers together: I contemplated going back to sleep. Wrapping myself in the comfort of my bed and allowing it to suck me in and suffocate me until I closed my eyes and allowed the darkness to take over my mind and subconscious.

I couldn't see everyone the same, I wouldn't be able to put my anger and frustration to the side. The word pissed would be the only acceptable word to describe how my feelings were toward them. If I saw any of their stupid faces, I might punch one.

Apparently everybody knows what's going on, unless I'm asking.
It's always.

"Stop interrogating me, Isadora."

"You ask so many questions, Isadora."

"Don't worry about it, Isadora."

"You'll know when you're ready to be told, Isadora."

It's never the actual answers to the questions I'm asking. And It's driving me Insane.

It can't drive you insane, you're already insane.

Fuck you! I'm officially evicting you from my brain—

A banging on my door drags my attention away from my overwhelming brain; and drags my feet towards the stupid dark oak, that makes the door. I pause right in-front of it.