This chapter is dedicated to Suicide Prevention Month.
In the darkness of our minds, it's easy to lose sight of the light, but even in our deepest struggles, we are not alone. If you or someone you know is struggling, there is hope, and reaching out can make all the difference. Let this story be a reminder that every soul is precious, and the battle for life is worth fighting.
....
I wasn't sure how long I had drifted off after Delilah finally calmed down, her soft breath steady against my chest. But the light streaming through the window was unforgiving, forcing me to face the mess I had left behind. I could feel the stiffness in my body, the weight of everything I'd done gnawing at me from the inside out.
I rolled over and blinked, the remnants of last night creeping back into my mind. The bathroom. The body. The smell of chlorine and vomit still clung to my skin. It was enough to make me want to sink back into the darkness and forget about it all, but Delilah shifted beside me. Her fingers twitched lightly, still holding onto a piece of me even in her sleep.
Her face was peaceful now, almost innocent, like the chaos of last night had never touched her. But I knew better. She wasn't as naive as she looked. She had that darkness inside her too-maybe not like mine, but enough to make her dangerous if she ever figured out how deep it went.
I watched her for a moment, letting the quiet settle in, before slowly sliding out of the bed. My feet hit the cold floor, the remnants of what I'd done pulling me further from the comfort of her presence. The house was eerily silent, save for the soft creaking of old wood beneath my steps as I moved through the hallway, my body automatically steering me toward the bathroom.
I paused at the door, my hand hovering over the handle. The bathroom. I could still picture her mother's lifeless body slumped in that tub, her dead eyes staring blankly up at me. A part of me wanted to turn back to avoid the inevitable sight of what I had done. But I forced myself to push the door open.
The smell hit me first-harsh and metallic. The room was in disarray, the scent of chemicals still thick in the air, mixed with the sour stench of death. The bathtub was empty now, drained of water and blood, but there were still traces of the horror that had unfolded here. The chemicals I had poured in had done their job, or at least most of it. The body was no longer recognizable, dissolved into a foul sludge that swirled in the base of the tub.
I stared down at it, the bile rising in my throat again. I was used to blood and death, but this? This was different. This was personal. She had been a part of Delilah's life, the piece of her that I had taken away without a second thought. And now, as I stood there staring at the mess I had made, I felt something that surprised me.
Regret. Maybe not for her mother, but for Delilah. She would never be the same after this, no matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise. I had taken something from her that she could never get back, and for what? To protect myself? To protect her? Maybe it didn't matter anymore.
I grabbed a bottle of bleach from the cabinet, trying to think clearly. I couldn't leave any evidence behind, no matter how much my mind wanted to shut down and ignore the reality of the situation. I poured the bleach into the tub, the acrid smell stinging my nose as I scrubbed away the remaining traces of the body. The whole time, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, like Delilah's mother was still lingering somewhere in the room, her dead eyes judging me from beyond the grave.
