Myocardium

Part 33

As I enter the flat with now nothing but Rafael on my mind, I try to be as silent as I can be, checking on my little sweet beans to ensure they're both sleeping, safe and sound.

Once I've made sure everything is as normal as can be, I lock myself in the bathroom and take a shower, since this small, but significant act of self-care still fits into my schedule.
As I observe what is right in front of me, in the mirror's reflection, I begin wondering. Will it ever get any better than this? Can it even get any better or is this already the apogee of my existence? Will my wounds ever completely heal? Physically AND emotionally?

Speaking of, I gently run my fingers over my thigh, on which Joe has left some nasty scratches. They feel inflamed, "thanks" to his disgusting, dirty fingers. I don't want to let them get any worse, so I carefully remove the wet remains of the scabs with a dry, rough towel until the wounds are bleeding slightly.

While calming down from the agonizing pain of pouring hydrogen peroxide all over my thigh, I get out my handy-dandy sterilizing gauze and some bandages, so I can battle the oncoming infection straight away. Once my burning thigh is bandaged, I slip into some lose-fitted jeans and a hoodie that I could have sworn has never been so large on me.

Did I lose some weight again? My ribs are showing through my pale, bruised skin, I know for a fact that they haven't done that in a while. These dark circles under my lifeless eyes, the bruises on my neck and the scratches and purple marks all over my body look right back at me from the mirror. It's almost as if they're staring. 

I'm a mess. It pains me to look at myself like this, I can't help but absolutely hate what I see. Rafael's necklace is still decorating my neck, glimmering softly under the artificial light. I should talk to him about removing the stitches on my arm from Ben's felony. It's been a week already after all.

Ah yes. Wednesday. Lab. After I'm more or less done getting ready for the hell called college, I wake up my sweet little angel, gently tucking a stand of hair behind her ear as she slowly begins moving and stretches her limbs away from her torso like a little kitten.

"Good morning, Eli," Daisy responds to my wake-up call and yawns adorably while rubbing her half-opened eyes. Even in this state of half-slumber, she seems to be more excited about the day than I am, even though I'm already fully caffeinated and as awake as I can possibly be. 

After successfully getting my sister out of bed, I begin toasting some slices of bread to perfection, as well as making tea and cutting a banana and some strawberries for breakfast.

Suddenly and without a second warning, as I am holding the knife in my hand like this, I feel this strange, but overly familiar urge. This urge that makes my fingertips all tingly, spreading the feeling through my arms to my chest and from there, all throughout my body. 

The voice begins whispering, then talking and, soon after, screaming at me to do it. As if I've been caught in this unbreakable trance, I bring the knife up to my exposed wrist, right above the colourful rubber bands Rafael gifted me, as well as the little wristband my little sister made. My mind runs on autopilot, I can't fight the things my body does so automatically. I can feel the fear of wrongdoing when I press the worn-out blade against my frail, delicate skin.

"Eli, will you help me do my project for Arts & Crafts? I have to bring it on Tuesday," Daisy suddenly speaks up behind me, ripping me back into reality as I flinch, drop the knife to the cutting board and turn around to her, pulling my sleeves down well over my wrists again.

"Oh, of course, sweetheart. What's the project about?", I ask my little sweet bean and give her a hopeful smile. This little girl just saved me, and she doesn't even know. As I encourage her to tell me about the task, I resume cutting the fruit, the urge vanishes almost completely, the voice is silent.