Disconnected

Chapter Twenty-Three

Daniella

I walk down the hallway and in to my bedroom, no emotion on my face. To be completely honest with myself, I do not know what to feel.

Sad? Mad? Confused? Lonely?

No emotion comes to mind immediately.

I close my bathroom door behind me and stare at myself in the mirror. I thought I looked bad on Calum's phone but I was wrong.

I look a thousand times worse in this mirror.

Dozens of tiny cuts cover my shoulder. I turn and peer over my shoulder to see my back, pulling my shirt up to reveal hundreds of cuts and bruises, ranging in size and shape.

What the hell happened to me?

Why would none of them tell me? No one was being direct with me. The way they all looked at me makes me want to throw up. I felt like an exhibit at a museum. Like some animal at the zoo. I am so strange looking that they could not take their eyes off of me for even a second. I am a freak show.

I slide my fingers down my stomach and scream to myself, trying not to alarm them downstairs. I really want to be alone right now. The last thing I need is them coming up here.

I slide down the bathroom wall and begin to sob uncontrollably.

This is not where I saw myself as a twenty-one-year old.

I should have never taken this job in the first place. I have only been here, a week maybe, and I have already gotten myself in to situations that have harmed my health in more ways than one. I deeply regret taking this job.

"Daniella-" Michael interrupts my meltdown. "Can I come in?" He asks, knocking on the door softly.

"No," I cry in to my hands to keep myself quiet. I do not want him coming in. I want to be alone.

"Too late." He laughs. "I am coming in anyways." He opens the door and shuts it behind him.

I bury my face deep in to my knees. I do not want him to see me like this.

Michael sighs and sits down on the floor next to me. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me in to his warm body.

*****

"Okay," I wipe my face clean of tears. "I really need to take a shower now." I stand and open the door for Michael.

He stands and walks over to me, cupping my face softly in his hands.

"Are you okay?" He asks.

I look at him, wondering that question myself.

"I am not sure yet." I reply honestly.

Michael nods, accepting my answer. He steps towards the door to leave.

"Michael," I step in front of the door and block him before he can go. "What happened to me?" He sighs. He is not going to tell me. I can tell by the way he is looking at me. "Michael, I am scared. Please." I beg, grabbing on to his arm.

"They-"

"Please do not lie to me. I want to know." I pull him closer, wanting to feel his warmth against me.

I am so cold. Freezing. I don't exactly know why either. I just am.

"They would have really hurt you if I did not show up when I did. If I was a second or two later it would have been horrible." He tells me, as if I am a child he is trying to explain an adult thing to.

"What would they have done?" I ask, wanting to know what I got myself in to last night.

I really can not remember last night's events.

I remember picking out a dress and leaving the store with Abby. The rest of the night is one big blurry mess. I can't seem to make out a clear picture. Or at least a piece of it, to start.

Michael sighs again, more frustrated this time. He really does not want to tell me. But he knows I am not going to let him out until he does.

"Well, when I found you, you were begging me to leave you there to die. Them killing you would have been the nicest thing they would have done to you last night." Michael answers. "I will just leave it at that."

I turn to let him leave, satisfied with his answer, for now. He walks out in to my room and reaches for the door.

"Michael?" I call out for him.

"What?" He asks, probably wondering what more I want to know about last night.

"How did you know?" I ask, simply.

"Know what?" He asks, cocking his head to the side slightly, in confusion.

"That I was in trouble." I ask, seen as everything I have heard tells me Michael found me in whatever situation it was.

He saved me. I owe my life to him. I do not know exactly what happened, but I know it was bad. And Michael stuck his neck out to help me last night. I owe him big time.

"I just knew." He smirks slightly, his normal mannerisms coming out.

"I really wish I could remember. Then I could feel better." I scratch my shoulder, opening one of the tiny cuts by accident, a drop of blood pooling together in the middle.

"Trust me, Daniella, it is probably better that you don't remember. If you did, you would not feel any better. You would feel much, much worse." Michael tries to convince me. "I am glad you do not remember."

He leaves the room, leaving me to try to finish this giant puzzle in my head alone.

I strip of my clothes and step in to the shower, turning on the hot water and feeling it on my tense muscles and cut up skin.