Emily
I lookin the mirror and rub my fingers along my cheek. I wince. I don't even recognize myself. Not just my injuries, but the rest of me as well. My clothes aren’t my preferred style, my hair is a mess, and I’m not wearing any makeup. I don't even have the energy to make myself look like a human being lately. I’m letting myself fall apart. I don’t know how or when this happened.
I go back to my room. The air still smells stale, as if the door hasn't been opened since I left. I uncap one of my perfumes and spray it a few times. The room fills with the sweet smell of vanilla and coconut, and it reminds me of who I once was. It smells like familiarity.
I touch the items on my desk: the bristles of my brush, the plastic of hair clips, and old receipts. I sit on the bed and feel the soft fabric of my quilt. Everything is exactly as I left it.
I pull the bag of pills out of my coat pocket. I touch my cheek and realize these old friends could squelch the pain. I could use their familiar embrace.
I pour some out in my hand. They plead with me, begging me to take them. Pick me, pick me! They wrestle and tumble over each other to be first. I pick up a few, place them on my tongue, and swallow. They slide into my stomach, waiting to fire up my mind. I lie on the bed, waiting patiently to sleep with the enemy. It’s the same thing that almost took David from me forever.
My body feels heavy and my thoughts are soft. I smile. Such a wonderful visit with an old friend.
I feel a bit too heavy. I may have taken too much. My eyelids are lead-lined curtains. I’m so sleepy. My breaths are slow but regular. I try to keep myself awake, and it works for a while. My skin crawls. I’m so itchy. I rake my nails along my arms and fall asleep.
* * *
David
I openEmily's bedroom door to check on her. I look at the time on the clock beside her bed. Six-thirty.
Emily is asleep. I pull the covers over her. When I lift the quilt, a bag falls onto the floor. It opens, and a couple pills rest on the carpet beside it. Emily’s chest rises slowly.
“Emily?”
I turn her face toward me, but she isn't waking up.
“Emily? Emily? Wake up!” I yell against her skin as I put my face up to her chest. “Emily, no. Come on, what did you do?”
I imagine this is a fraction of the fear she felt when she found me. At least I can see her chest rising and falling. At least I can feel her heart beating.
I pick her up and bring her to the bathroom. I turn on the shower and lay her in the tub. The water is cold, and it hits my arms like tiny needles. It awakens my nerves. They scream as I rub my knuckle into her sternum.
“Come on, Emily. Just wake up, baby girl.”
Emily stirs and opens her eyes. The cool water saturates her clothes and soaks down to her bones. Her eyes are wide, like an animal in a trap, her arms flailing. She pushes at my chest and screams with misguided aggression. I don't care if she's pissed, as long as she's alive. She pushes my arms away and tries to stand. I turn off the tap, and red tinged water swirls around the drain.
“You weren't waking up.”
I wrap her in a towel. This situation is eerily similar to what I had to do for her at that party. She pushes me away. Her hair is wet and clings to her face.
“What happened?” she asks.
“I think you took too many of those pills. What the hell were you thinking? You could have died!”
I know what she's thinking. Why should she listen to me? I'm the maestro of self-medicating.
“I just… I just wanted the pain to go away for a while.”
I understand that. They are too damn good at their job.
I lead her to her bedroom. She’s still wearing that terrible scarf. I unwrap it and pull it away from her neck. I see the bruises there for the first time.
“Emily…”
I help her lift her shirt over her head. The fabric is cold and sticks to her skin. My fingertips hover as I pass over the skin of her chest. I see the darkening bruise on her stomach.
I hold the towel around her breasts as I unclip her bra and let it drop to her feet. She leans on me, pressing her chest against me. She wiggles out of her sweatpants, and they fall to her ankles. All her clothes rest in a sopping wet pile on the floor.
I reach back to her dresser and grab the first pair of soft pants my fingers find. I hand them to her and she slips them on. She has no lounging shirts here, so I take my shirt off and hand it to her. She slips it over her. It's a little tight in the chest, but it will do.
* * *
Emily
“I’m so sorry.I didn’t mean to,” I whisper.
I now feel the high I wanted. My hair soaks through the top of David's t-shirt. I look at his shirtless form. He has filled out so nicely. I feel the ache in my gut, but I’m still sleepy.
“I need to sleep. Will you stay with me?” I ask.
“You're crazy if you'd think I'd leave you after that. I'll stay, but I'm going to keep waking you up, just to make sure you’re ok.”
I lie down in bed, my hair wetting my pillow. David lies down behind me. He wraps his arm around me and brushes the hair out of my face. His skin is warm and his smell is intoxicating. He covers us with a blanket. I shiver against him, and he pulls me closer.
I fall asleep.
* * *
I wakeup with David still spooning me. I turn over to look at him. His face is fuller and he somehow looks more handsome. I haven't truly looked at him in a while. It’s been too painful.
I trace his cheek with the back of my hand and glance down at the bag on the floor. The remaining pills are scattered, but none are missing. David didn't use any. He’s stronger than I am.
“I love you, David,” I whisper, hoping he won’t hear me.
“I love you too, Em.”
I smirk. Dammit.
I get out of bed and walk across the hall to the bathroom. I look in the mirror. My hair is frizzy and matted where I slept on it. I can’t tell where my cheek begins and the bruise ends. The marks around my neck are shaped like hands. The purplish pink stands out starkly against my pale skin.
I trace my fingers along the bruises. It’s pathetic that it took these marks to convince me I needed to leave Kevin.
Arms wrap around me, and I jump.
“Em, it’s just me.”
I realize it’s David and melt into him. He looks at us in the mirror, reaching out a hand to touch my cheek. He moves it downward toward my neck. I look him in the eyes, grab his hand, and kiss his fingers.
“We need to talk about all this.” He motions to my entire being and smiles. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I'll make us some coffee and breakfast.”
I sit down at the island table in the kitchen and look around. Who helped him become so domesticated? He puts a cup of coffee in front of me. I wrap my hands around the warm mug and attempt to bask in the moment before I take a sip. It’s like swallowing glass. I put the mug back down. It was stupid of me to think that being choked nearly to death wouldn’t have left a lingering side effect.