Disturbed Angels

Chapter five

Something touched my face.

I sat up frantically; worst-case scenarios of strange men in my room were the only scenarios my brain would consider, but my eyes reluctantly opened to find… a leaf. Confused, I picked it off my face and looked over at my (evidently) open window, a cold breeze drifting through it. Well that would explain the leaf. I shivered and got up to close it. Today was freezing, I whined to myself as I wrapped one of my bed's blankets over my shoulders. At lest I thought, as I reached out to shut the window, the weather was being consistent again - sunny morning frost. Mid reach for the windows handle, I stopped cold at the sight of my hand. Dirt, red/brown in colour, resided under my nails and lay dried along my knuckles, flaking off like old paint. I brought it to my face and sniffed cautiously: it was blood. My mind ignited, legs turned weak, and I slid down the wall as the memories of last night began to return in rolling waves.    

 I had done something bad. So very bad.

I had killed a man and I couldn’t remember why.

Shaking. I was shaking so hard and I couldn’t stop. Calm, I thought, clenching my hands into fists - but the shaking refused to stop, rippling and convulsing through my body. My thoughts were screaming with an irrationally urgency. I had to get clean. God, I needed to be clean. The blood on my hands kept glaring at me, telling me; showing me last night again and again.

It burned my skin.

I pushed away the blanket puddled at my knees and burst into my bathroom, locking the door behind me. I went straight for the shower feverishly turned it on full and stood under, rubbing my hands till they were raw. Get off blood, GO! My mind screamed. I lathered on soap and scrubbed harder, trying to get it all off, out of every crack, removing it from me. But still, the mans frightened face as he finally understood, flashed back at me - the struggling pressure under my hands still a memory on my palms. I screamed my eyes closed, and scrapped harder at my skin. My skin ached but still, harder I scrubbed. It needed to be gone! It needed to not exist! Swimming - the room was swimming. No - it didn't count, I had to see the blood leave my hands. No whimping out, no short cuts. I wiped at my eyes and found tears slipping from them. I blinked. Tears?! No. I don’t cry. I want to cry - but - to cry you have to be sad, and I never get sad.  

“What the hell is happening to me?” I moaned as I collapsed against the shower wall. My voice bubbled and cracked as I ran my fingers, cleaned spotlessly raw, yet still so horribly filthy, along my trembling lips. The perpetually beating water was growing unbearable on my skin so, with a snapping flick of my wrist, I turned it off. I should move, I thought shakily, so I did. With my chin raised in fragile defiance I was glass as I cautiously stepped out of the shower and peeled off my wet clothes, unsure if I should break and shatter across the floor. I dropped the clothes on the ground and cracked, the wet pile stirring an unfamiliar anger so horrible that it splintered through me. I wanted to cling to it. They were the same clothes from last night. The clothes that were covered in actions and feelings that disgusted me, repulsed me in a way that is foreign; irritatingly - and more so- illogical.

They had to go.

Wrapping a trembling towel around myself I walked out to the bedroom and pulled on some pyjamas. Clothed and dry I returned to my bathroom, determinedly ignorant to the wet clothes on the floor, trying not to look in the one place I couldn't. But, the dirt and blood flashed up at me in a strobe of emotions and I cringed. Grabbing a plastic bag from under my sink I stuffed them all inside and tied the handles together. Storming out of the bathroom, I threw the bag against my closed bedroom door and sighed. Better. I-It was Better now. With a sigh I pulled out the plug on my panic and watched it swirl away to nothing. Exhausted, I sat heavily on my bed and trailed an absentminded hand across my forehead. It came away warm - weird, almost as if I had a fever. No, I thought, Ellice you don’t get sick, it's not right. But concerns about my heath were abruptly dulled when I finally realised.