Not So Delicate ||18+|| ✔️

Brooklyn ~57~

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of sexual abuse, blood, and murder.

IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TOPICS, PROCEED WITH CAUTION.

What was that quote again?

'When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.'

In my case, when life gives you lemons, slice them and squirt the juice into their eyes.

My body was still killing me. Joshua was nowhere to be found since two nights ago thankfully. I got out of bed, exhausted from my night of pain and nightmares. I grabbed whatever clothes I could find, throwing it on. The white dress was short but it would have to do for now.

I was tired of lying around and doing nothing. I was tired of wallowing in self-hate and self-pity. I was far too exhausted to do anything too rash. But I wasn't going to wait around for someone to help me.

I'm done letting others tell me what to do.

I searched the entire room and bathroom for something sharp, anything would be useful. Finally, I found a loose floorboard. I pull it out and find a box of knives. Sharp ones too. I hold back my excitement, for once the universe favors me. Finding one with a sheath, I strap it to my thigh. My dress was short but it hid the sheath perfectly.

I grab another knife and go into the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror.

Brown eyes stared back at me judgingly, scrutinizing my very being. My hair was a mess, and my body was littered with bruises and hickeys. The white dress contrasted against my tan, well, now pale, skin. Nearly blending in if it wasn't for the bruises and nasty bite marks. I grab a brush and comb out my hair, not worrying about popping the hair and just combing it through.

Pretending got me nowhere. Pretending got me raped.

So now I wasn't going to pretend.

I was going to take action.

My body yelled in protest but I didn't listen. I knew the risks of doing this with the state my body was in. But those risks would just have to be taken.

I had the place somewhat mapped out. I was never close enough to an exit, but I did see a window that led to solid ground. That was my exit.

If my planning was correct, about two guards would be walking down this hallway in a second, patrolling.

I stay quiet, staring at the girl I'm unfamiliar with.

Footsteps passed the door, heavy. I waited till they were gone. I dampen my hair a little and finish combing it out, taking a huge chunk in my hand and bringing the knife to it.

They say hair holds memories.

So I'm cutting those memories away.

I'm cutting away Joshua. I'm cutting away this past week and a half. I'm cutting away my men. Fuck, I'm cutting away the men.

The hair fell to the ground and into the sink, the brown locks surrounding me. My once long hair was cut short, right under my shoulder blades. It was choppy but it would have to do. I finish cutting it, dropping the knife into the sink, and staring at myself, running my fingers through my shorter hair.

It was a rash decision, yes. But it's less of a risk of someone grabbing me by the hair. I walk out of the bathroom, grabbing the knife from my thigh, and ripping the blanket off of the bed, tearing it up. I used the torn fabric to wrap around my feet since I didn't have any shoes.

Sheathing the knife, I make my way over to the door. Pressing my ear to it, listening for voices or footsteps. Hearing nothing, I open the door, running out and down the hall. I didn't care anymore. I ran as fast as I could, dashing through the familiar halls.