Samson

Prologue

I couldn't do this anymore.

My entire body protested as I sank to my knees, then reached underneath my bed for the first-aid kit that I kept hidden there. On my knees, I pulled the box next to me, and my hands shook as I tried-twice-to open the damn thing, and I willed myself not to cry. Struggling to get the box open, I felt the punch of panic in my gut when drops of blood colored the lid.

I couldn't do this here.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed the box, then got to my feet. I felt the dizziness like a fog of uncertainty threatening to push me back down and leave me there, so I closed my eyes, then forced some strength into my legs. Once I felt steady enough, I made my way to the bathroom, thanking God that no one was home.

Hobbling into the bathroom, I couldn't stop the painful cry that fell from my lips as the mirror didn't lie. The box dropped into the sink as I leaned forward to get a better look.

Who was that girl?

I no longer recognized the girl in the mirror, and that frightened me badly. My eyes searched every inch of my face to see if I could find the girl that I used to be, but I couldn't see anything. There was a time when I'd been convinced that I could still...save myself, but looking in the mirror, that time had come and gone.

I made my way over to the shelves next to the shower, then grabbed a face cloth. After making my way back to the sink, I turned on the hot water, then held the cloth underneath the faucet until it was wet and warm enough to soothe the mistakes stamped all over my face.

My hiss filled the silence as I pressed the damp cloth to my face just above my left eye, and I knew that I was going to need stitches if I had any hope of keeping the scar to a minimum. I scrambled around in the first-aid box to see if it had come with butterfly stitches or medical glue, because a trip to the emergency room would bring about too many questions and unpayable medical bills. Luckily, I found a sleeve of butterfly stitches, and I closed my eyes briefly in prayer for small favors.

With the faucet still running, I rinsed the cloth out, and the pink tinted water that circled down the drain pulled a whimper from my lips. I took a breath deep in my chest to calm the nausea threatening to make an appearance, though it didn't really help. Nevertheless, ignoring the tight coil in the pit of my stomach, I placed the cloth back on my face, then did the scariest thing that I'd ever done; I looked into the eyes of the girl in the mirror.

I couldn't do this anymore.

However, more importantly, I couldn't hide this anymore.

I knew that once I calmed down, I could probably come up with a believable lie to tell everyone, but I'd been doing that for months already, and I didn't know if I had any new lies to tell. I also didn't know what could be believable enough to make the mess of my face go away.

My body was easy; I slept wrong. I pulled my back. I'd gone to the gym. I slipped and fell. The lies were endless when it was just your body that ached, but a battered face was a different story.

Tossing the soiled cloth in the sink, I ripped open the package of stitches, then read the instructions on the back. After that, I went back to the linen shelves to grab a dry face cloth, then I cleaned the gash one last time, letting the skin around it dry.

After it was dry enough, starting in the middle-per instructions-I pulled the ragged edges of my skin together, then placed the first stitch across the wound. I added another, then another, then another until there were five stitches in place. The first-aid kit had come with some antibiotic cream, so I dabbed some on lightly, then covered the entire thing was a sterile bandage. Having taken care of the biggest issue, I cleaned the rest of my face, and all that remained after my ministrations, was some bruising already forming around my left eye and down the side of my face.

With my adrenaline crashing, I turned around, then slid down the counter until my ass hit the tiled floor. The water still ran above me, but I couldn't bring myself to care just yet. I sat on the bathroom floor, wondering how I'd gotten here.

How had I allowed to let things get so out of control?

I never dreamed that I'd ever become that girl; the one that could let doubt and fear seduce her.

However, I'd had.

I had, but I couldn't be her anymore.

Something had to change, and that something had to be me.