faded

37. 0 - bathe

Stupidly, her droopy, wet eyes find mine. For one minute I forget about everything that's taken place between us. Her hands find my forearms and she holds onto me for support, her frail legs weak. All I can do is remember the girl from the staircase, batting her eyelashes at me. I should've known she'd leave eventually, I couldn't think it would last forever but I did either way. Letting her go isn't an option. I don't understand why I can't. She's just mine, my girl, my Anastasia. How could Harry betray me? How could she fuck him? How? Why do I hate her so fucking much and love her at the same time?

Ana closes her eyes for a second as if deep in thought or preparing herself for the worst, I remember her and Harry. How her hands were wrapped around him like he was the most valuable thing in the world. I remember them kissing and it all comes back. The god damn reality hits me right in the face

I throw her into the tub and she cries out, her head making contact with the floor of the tub. The icy water doesn't make her healing bruises and fresh ones better, but the rubbing alcohol makes her cuts burn. She starts crying her eyes out and thrashing in the water, trying to fight my hands off her so she can get out.

I don't know how to calm her down. She's crying like crazy and I can't take it. It's like the more she cries, the more I want to hurt her. Why? Why do I like it? Why? Why? Why?

"Shut the fuck up! This is your fault, you know that? It's all your fault!" My fist easily finds her cheek, part of her lip. The soft, pure skin breaks and her lip begins to bleed.

Her first instinct is to put her hand to it, but she's surprised when the alcohol coating her hand makes the pain worse. I watch the water go from completely clear to a light pink, the few droplets of blood falling like summer rain.

"Please get me out, please. It hurts," she sobs as she tries to back up into the tub to get away from where the cold water still falls, but successfully knocks over the bottles of shampoo and the tiny glass bottle with the laced oil and alcohol.

She must have kicked it on accident, because I immediately see the pieces of glass and the pain kicks in worse, Anastasia turns into a screaming toddler within seconds. I never stop to think, maybe this is too much, maybe she's learned her lesson. I know she hasn't. Will she ever? I hope so. But who's to say that day will actually come and who's to know if she'll see that day.

I think back to the taser and I'm tempted. I have to stop her from crying and I can't just beat her until she stops, I know she won't and I need her awake. I need to pick off where we left off.

"Are you gonna shut the fuck up?" I hold her wrists and she doesn't struggle, but she won't stop crying. I know she's in pain and I couldn't care less. She deserves it.

I reach behind me near the nearby sink, reaching for the tiny white case of razors I kept there just in case. She notices and stops immediately, she just freezes. Even her hands fall heavy and I let her go, puzzled at her sudden defeat. I don't take it for granted. I open the box and take one of the shiny, silver razors out. I show it to her like I'm showcasing a diamond. Her reaction is the one I expected, one of true terror and heartbreak. It needs to be done. I have to. She can't get away from me.

"Give me your arm."

"Z-Zayn, w-why?" she asks quietly, cheeks wet from continuous tears and her lip becoming more bruised by the second. She's swaying slightly, I know she's dizzy.

"If you make it hard, it'll hurt more," I murmur as I take her hand roughly.

Anastasia still struggled despite his instructions, but it only infuriated him more. To her, it didn't even seem like he was angry anymore. He was just hurting her because he could and because he felt like it, as if he was trying to prove some obscure point. It had gone too far.