The Phantom Touch

Mother

I sat on my bed, staring through the window.

I had hoped that by the time my tears dried up, I'd have fallen asleep. However, every time I tried to close my eyes, I could feel his hands on me. My skin didn't feel like mine anymore. Instead it felt foreign and dirty. I couldn't scrub away the sensation, even though my arms and stomach were raw from the constant scrape of my shower mesh over my skin. After trying to cleanse myself with a shower, I resorted to scratching my nails over my sensitive flesh, desperate to rip his touch from me. However, all I gained were puffy red streaks across my skin, the memory of his fingertips already rooted to my bones.

So, instead, I looked out the window, waiting for the pain to numb and the nausea to subside. Questions rolled through my head, wondering if this was my fault, wondering if I had only myself to blame. After awhile they became white noise and though I no longer listened, they still sliced at my heart and deepened my wounds. I didn't know when it would all go away, but I needed to believe that at some point I'd find my skin again and it would be solely mine once more.

"Delilah? Are you okay?"

I hiccupped with surprise and sniffed away the last of my tears. My heart squeezed and my lungs tensed, fearful he may have returned to finish the job, but my logic and reason eventually overruled my anxiety and informed me that the voice outside my door was much too feminine to belong to Bungee.

"Who...who is it?" I asked, swallowing down the cry forcing it's way up my throat. My lips trembled as I took a deep breath. My hands shook as I wrapped my arms tight around my chest.

"It's Violet," she answered, her voice soft and concerned. "I heard you crying through the walls. I wasn't sure what to do. I should have come over sooner, but before I could I heard you start your shower. I wanted to give you some time to dry off and, well, are you okay?"

For a moment I considered telling her how not okay I was. I thought of spilling everything to her. About how Bungee touched me, about how Everett kept giving me mixed signals, about how Mercedes nearly crushed my throat, about how Antonov continues to vie for my affections, about how his children tried to kill me because their mother thought I was a whore, about how the reason I came across Calista's dead body was because I intended to die in those woods, about how I had no value in my first life, about how everyone looked at me as if I was a disappointment, about how alone I felt then, and about how alone I felt now.

However, I only considered that for a moment.

"I'm fine," I lied. "I just had a rough day at work. I'm still getting used to this whole having a job again thing. But, I'm fine. Just need some sleep."

She didn't answer immediately. In fact, I thought maybe she had left. However, after a minute, I heard her heavy sigh through the door.

"I'm sorry, Delilah," she replied, her words soft and tired. "I can't leave you, not when I know you're lying."

"I'm...I'm not," I lied again, this time my voice warbling as my desire to dump my problems on her rose. I pushed that back down and cleared my throat. "Really, I'm fine."

"Can I come in and see that you're fine? If not, that's okay. I'm willing to just sit out here and listen."

"I-I can't just have you sit out there," I sighed, a groan rolling in my chest as I glanced at myself in the mirror. My hair damp and uncombed, swirled around me. My eyes pink and puffy sat above drooping cheeks and pale lips. I wore a terry cloth robe and nothing else, a patch of stomach showing with my claw marks etched into my skin. "Hold on," I mumbled, finally pulling myself from the bed. "Let me get dressed."