Atone (The Disciples 2)

I reach up and trace the letters across my heart. Shakily taking a deep breath, I hold it, willing the pain away. The memories are always one step ahead of me, chasing me. I turn and step into a blistering hot shower. The water pelts my chest and neck in a stinging, punishing way.

That’s when it takes over—the pain that has been taunting me makes me crack. My shoulders and chest heave as I let out a wail. I’ve never broken like this, and for a moment, I wonder if I can stop.

Bracing my hands on the side of the tiled wall, I let the agony bleed out of me.

All my sins, mistakes, bad decisions swirl before me. I’ve held them off for years by medicating myself, robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Drugs, sex, booze, exercise, and revenge kept me waking up each morning and sleeping each night.

But not tonight… Tabatha, her sweet rosy cheeks and fresh baby smell. My perfect mini me. She was all me, nothing of Debbie. She captured my heart the day she was born, an angel who deserved more than Debbie or I could give, but who we adored all the same.

She excelled at everything and grew more beautiful each day. Bright blue eyes that had already started to show a tint of silver, black lashes…

I hang my head and sink to my knees. I killed her.

The blood and water swirl down the drain as the pain and agonizing guilt seize me, squeezing out all my self-worth or desire to live.

The fire and screams are right next to me and her pitiful crying. My body starts to shake as I weep. She needed me.

Why? Why did Debbie bring her?

It takes one second to ruin your life. One second that you never get back. The shower pounds on my bowed head as I clutch my ears, hearing nothing but screams of terror.

Lifting my head, I let the pain of the hot water drown my face. Deep down, I know that all my child wanted was for her daddy to save her.

It was my job.

And I was late.

One fucking second that I can never get back—the moment that haunts me and will haunt me until I die.

I don’t deserve to be alive. I don’t deserve to be happy. I deserve nothing. And that’s what I am: nothing. A man who’s empty save for monsters and ghosts. Days like today I can’t wait to die if only to stop the pain and be with her, my angel.

The hot water has turned to cold and yet still I kneel and hear them.

My uncle screaming that it was going to blow…

“I’m so sorry… I tried… I fucking tried but I was too late.” My voice echoes and bounces in the cage that is the shower.

Sluggishly I stand, my voice and body spent. The ice-cold shower almost numbs the pain in my face. I turn it off and step out.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath. They’re coming for me—the demons that show me how to numb my brain. The pain is always with me, but the drugs make me at least be able to look at myself in the mirror.

I reach for a towel, wrap it around my waist, and open the bathroom door.

I walk to the bed where I know the bag will be. As I look down, I stop. It’s there, waiting for me… calling for me. That warm blanket of bliss.

I clench my hands as my veins pop and watch and feel them tingle. The old scarred-up needle marks almost tease me. Like little snakes, the veins get thicker as I breathe.

In and out, slowly I open my eyes and look around the room, which is pretty bare besides the bed, a small table, and a couple of chairs. Forcing my hands to relax, I reach for the bag. It’s not filled with opium; it’s Amy’s sewing kit. And the needle I’ll find is the one that I’m going to gratefully stick into my upper eyelid.

I hope it hurts. But, nothing hurts like the pain I live with every day.

Unzipping the silver bag, I walk back to the bathroom and set it on the sink. I pull out the needle that Amy’s already threaded.

I barely glance at my reflection and go to work, puncturing the skin of my sensitive upper eyelid.

It stings and burns, and I smile. With each stitch, the blood lessens, and with each stab of the needle, the pain subsides.DAVID/POETThe door opens and I don’t need to look to know it’s Blade. The cool morning air kisses my chest as I stand smoking in my filthy slacks.

The window is open and I breathe in, admiring the orange ball of the sun as it rises. I haven’t slept. I can’t remember the last time I really slept.