6
Nesrin
Present Day
Last night was like a scene out of a family sitcom. Actually, more like a comedy of horrors. I wanted to disappear so many times. But I couldn’t. When I finally slid under the covers last night, I was too tired to think about anything other than dreaming. And then, even in my sleep, blue eyes stared back at me. It was as if Damien was haunting me.
Sliding out of bed, I pad into the bathroom. The sun is just rising, bathing the room in a soft pinkish glow. I pull open the cabinet and find what I’m looking for. My muscles are stiff when I settle on the lid of the toilet. I haven’t turned to this for two long weeks, but after yesterday’s fiasco, I need it.
My heart thuds against my chest at the reminder of what happened. The images of seeing Damien getting a blow job from some random redhead. The thoughts of sitting with him in the car today have my nerves shot to hell.
The first time I did this, I was young. I recall the release so clearly. It was as if it was yesterday. I had accidentally cut myself on a broken glass after hearing my father screaming at my mother, and mom, in turn, decided to smash his whiskey decanter all over his office floor.
My anxiety spiked. At the time, I didn’t know what the feeling was, all I knew was that I needed to scream, but if I did, I’d only draw attention to myself, so instead, I crushed the fragile glass I’d been holding. My fingers had squeezed so hard that it shattered, slicing my hand open. The moment I saw the blood, I felt like I could breathe again. It was as if the world was no longer blurry, it was peaceful. When I was younger, I just knew it eased the ache in my body, it lifted the tension and pain, but now, it’s different.
I pick up the sleek, silver blade. It’s small, thin, and inconspicuous. Once, my mother found my box, she rummaged through the bandages and the Band-Aids, and she found the blades. At first, she went on a rampage, screaming at me, and then she broke down. I had never seen my mother cry, but that day, she did. I promised her that I’d be okay. It was the first and last time she acknowledged what she found. The days after, she ignored me, as if she never knew what I did.
After a couple of weeks, she sent me to therapy, not wanting to deal with it herself. I spoke to a stranger about my feelings, but nothing worked. The only thing that helped was the metal biting into the smooth, tanned flesh of my inner thighs.
I hate this.
But I don’t.
It’s a release that I never thought I could ever feel because nothing that was normal worked. Therapy. Medication. Even just focusing on hobbies didn’t help me.
A cut was the only solace I found.
A harsh knock on the door sounds like a warning alarm in my bedroom. I go to it, opening it up, to find my mother smiling at me like the world is perfect. Her happiness makes her glow, and I wish that she was like this all the time. But I know it’s a fleeting moment in time.
“We’re getting ready to leave,” she tells me, before pulling me into her arms as if we were always close and loving. Her affection is so foreign, it takes me a moment to hug her back.
“I hope you have fun,” I whisper, still confused at her sudden love for me. She doesn’t say anything; she just holds me.
When we finally break apart, she smiles at me, before telling me, “I hope you enjoy Thorne Haven. I hear it’s beautiful. And the manor is just stunning.”
“Yeah, I’m sure I will like it.”
“And behave for the boys, they’ll be looking after you.” Her voice is stern, annoying, because I’m no longer a child. I’m eighteen, all grown up and ready to take on the world.
“Mom, just go,” I tell her, hoping she’ll stop this strange behavior. It’s been so long since she’s paid me any attention without insults, it’s disconcerting.
“I just want you to show them that you were brought up with class.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “And no boys, school should be your focus. Make sure you’re ready to choose your major by the time we’re back. If you want to move to England and go to Oxford, like your dad did, then you can do that as well. I just don’t want my daughter falling pregnant with some misfit’s child.” She doesn’t say it, but I know she wanted to say, like I did. All my life I’ve heard about her finding out she was pregnant with me, which set her career back by a couple of years. And, all the while, I knew I was a mistake she didn’t want.