Under the Grit

Wake Up Alone

Evangeline's eyes fluttered open to the soft light filtering through her curtains. Her body felt heavy, weighed down by an invisible anchor pressing into her chest. A dull ache in her lower abdomen sent a sharp reminder of the night before. She rolled onto her side, clutching her stomach, as nausea crept up her throat.

The memory of Benjamin's hands on her, his voice low and persuasive, flashed through her mind like a jagged shard of glass. It had been consensual—she couldn't deny that—but the guilt was unbearable. She pressed her palm to her face, hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

"What was I thinking?" she whispered, her voice raw and trembling.

The bed still smelled faintly of him, his cologne lingering in the sheets, and it made her stomach churn. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood slowly, wincing as the soreness in her body protested the movement.

Evangeline shuffled to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror at all costs. She couldn't face herself—not yet. Turning on the faucet, she splashed cold water onto her face, hoping the shock would clear her muddled thoughts, but it did little more than make her skin sting.

Her gaze flickered upward against her will, and there she was—her reflection staring back at her, raw and exposed. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes red-rimmed, puffy, and surrounded by dark smudges. The faint pink flush on her cheeks from crying hadn't yet faded. She looked utterly wrecked.

The tears started before she could stop them. Her chest heaved as sobs wracked her body, her hand flying to cover her mouth to muffle the sound. It wasn't just regret—it was anger, shame, and heartbreak all tangled into one suffocating knot. She gripped the edge of the sink with her free hand, her knuckles turning white as the emotions flooded her all at once.

"What's wrong with me?" she choked out between gasping breaths.

Her shoulders trembled as she slid to the floor, the cool tile pressing against her legs. She curled into herself, resting her forehead against her knees. The night played on repeat in her mind, the hurt in her chest deepening with every thought. She had let him in—again—and now she was paying the price.

Evangeline stayed like that for several minutes, letting the storm pass through her. Eventually, the tears slowed, leaving her feeling hollow and exhausted. She drew in a deep breath, trying to ground herself in the moment.

"You have to pull it together," she whispered to herself, the words shaky but determined. "Not for him. Not for anyone. For you."

Forcing herself to stand, she turned back to the sink and washed her face again, scrubbing at the tear tracks and blotchy redness. When she looked up this time, she saw something different in the mirror—not strength exactly, but resolve.

She turned on the shower, letting the steam fill the small bathroom as she stepped in. The hot water cascaded over her, washing away the remnants of last night—the shame, the tears, and the lingering scent of Benjamin on her skin. She scrubbed harder than usual, almost as if she could erase the memories themselves.

When she stepped out, her body felt lighter, though her mind remained weighed down. She dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a loose sweater, something comfortable and unassuming. Her hair was still damp as she left her room and made her way downstairs, steeling herself for the inevitable questions her parents would have.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee greeted her as she entered the kitchen. Her father sat at the table, the morning paper spread out in front of him, his reading glasses perched on his nose. Her mother was at the stove, humming softly as she prepared breakfast.

"Good morning, αγάπη μου," her mother greeted, her thick accent wrapping around the words like a warm blanket. She turned to look at Evangeline, her brow furrowing slightly. "You look tired. Did you sleep well?"