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Thirty One: Safety

Dan sat me down in front of him in the living room, a cup of tea in hand. I focused on the steam that rose from it as he examined my face, the blank expression I wore and was unable to part with. He let out a small sigh, one he tried to mask with his hand as he rubbed his face in frustration but more probable to be tiredness. My mind remained blank, unable to process how I truly got here. Of all the places I could've gone I came here, but why?

"What happened Ali?" He sounded full of empathy, unsure how else to react whilst I held my warm mug in my grip, trying not to meet his gaze.

Staying quiet was easy for me, I had gotten used to my own company and silence. Although to me silence was second nature Dan remained fidgety. He kept standing up causing the floorboards to creak with angst much like the sort that was building up in this small space. His words hung in the air as I tried to distract my mind from the dull ache that crossed my face, I glance between varying objects displayed that remain bright and consistent unlike everything I've seen until now. 

"Zoe, Marcus. Disowned. Fight." I mumbled the same few words unaware of how nonsensical they'd be for Dan who leaned in to hear me. My eyes began to water and my vision blurred on the mug of tea, the mug seemed distorted until I blinked. A searing pain crossed my cheek as the salty water explored the mark she left, a reminder of the wrong I'd done to them all. 

His hands on my drink as they began to shake, whimpers sounded from me as I struggled to hold it all in. For too long I'd been quiet, hours I'd suppressed my emotions but the second I'm here I've allowed my walls to break down. I could vaguely feel his hands holding mine lightly, blood dried around my palms where I dug my nails in; why do I do this? Wincing he turns my palms up, exposing them. A light sigh came from him as he stood up whilst I kept my head low. "Come on Ali." He spoke with sincerity which made me want to scream, I didn't want pity. I just wanted someone. 

I was hesitantly led into a bathroom where I sat on the toilet seat lid whilst he carefully cleaned my hands. The faint pain making me bit my lower lip and avoid his caring glances. "Can I try and clean your cut?" More hesitance and risk entered his tone. I broke my gaze with my muddy shoes and to his brown eyes, how they shone in this low light with care and I found myself enticed, unaware of my nod. 

Moving closer to me his face was inches in front of mine. I was able to see the specks in his eyes, the overgrown eyebrow hairs hidden beneath his brunette fringe. As he cleaned my face I raised my hand and moved his fringe out of his eye, smiling as I did. A light shade of pink crossed his cheek making me smile ever so slightly. "Good to know you've got a smile in there somewhere." He muttered, only just loud enough for me to hear even in this close proximity. 

Once the cuts were cleaned and the remains of dried blood had been erased leaving the bare mark I walked away into the open space where I was less confined. I found myself lying against the floor, staring at the high ceiling with its blank slate allowing my mind to wander and replay the last few hours over and over again.  "We should've put you in the nut house when we found out! Those pills do nothing you hear me?" Even now I can hear her words piercing into my memory all over again. The pure rage that came over her unlike anything I'd ever witnessed. Lifting my hands up I covered my eyes and shut my eyes tightly until I could see squiggles in the darkness. 

"Make it stop. Make it stop." I could barely hear myself even though it felt like my hands were no longer over my ears. My own speech drowned out by their harsh words along with others I didn't recognise. More pain crossed my cheeks as I felt tears trickle across them and towards my ears, the sensation unusual and unwelcoming.  

A pair of hands forcefully lifted me upright and I fell into his chest. I was sobbing now, the ugly groans and hiccups, not the Princess cries you see or convince yourself with. In reality we all cry in an ugly way, it's just a fact about us. We aren't meant to look pretty when we are vulnerable, it has no meaning. Why would we wish to look pretty at our lowest moments?