ASSUMPTIONS [H.S.]

chapter 10

play the song when I ask you to!
the lyrics kinda connect with Amber's life and the way she's feeling right now, so pay more attention to them, please!!!

tw: some paragraphs below involve a faint description of blood, which could be disturbing to others.

^^ later on, this story's going to contain much darker scenes than that, so if you're already uncomfortable, I'd suggest you don't continue reading this story <3

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"They don't know that we know they know we know," I hear Phoebe Buffay's voice ring through the TV in my bedroom, as I roll on the other side of my bed, flipping the pillow to its other side.

I let out a huge huff before turning my head to the clock on the nightstand reflecting the symbols 1:43pm. Great, I've spent 7 hours tossing and turning.

I got home a little past 6am, immediately showering and washing away the gross airplane stench, then cuddled up in my bed ready to sleep, but spent the next two hours flipping around in my bedsheets, as I felt uneasy about what happened at the airport. Just the way they touched me formed a weird pit in my stomach I couldn't quite get rid of.

So I went and showered for the second time, tiredly trying to scrub away the feeling of the touches, my skin getting red in some spots from the brutal force I was applying.

As the next hour passed, I got in bed, eventually falling asleep, but woke up screaming from the nightmares I should be used to by now. So I got in the shower for the third time, which at this point seems like a waste of water, washing away the sweat along with the dreams laced with the vivid flashbacks of that night.

The night that ruined my whole fucking life.

I tried to take in the feeling of the small water droplets sliding down my skin, as I found myself frantically scrubbing my hands again, just like I did that night.

Every time I closed my eyes for just a second, I saw myself in the car with him again, my hand tightly clutching the pocket knife with crimson red tainting it. I still could feel his nails digging into my upper arms, as his shocked features looked down at the sharp object driven into his stomach.

God, I'm a fucking murderer. 

I tried to blink away the bloody memories, kneeling on the cold tiles below the showerhead, the freezing water pouring onto me, totally not helping with the state of my hyperventilation, my shallow breaths fighting their way in and out of my lungs, as I kept looking down at my hands and wondered if the blood on them is real or not, trying my best not to throw up at the thought of it all.

The ringing in my ears started to turn into voices, and I had to press my hands onto the sides of my head in hopes to stop my ex-boyfriend Reece's harsh words, "Well maybe if you hadn't worn that slutty dress like the fucking cunt you are, none of this would've happened," hauntingly lingering in my mind.

Once I felt completely drained, I got out of the shower totally emotionless, acting as if nothing had happened, and stood in front of the mirror, trying to understand what person I'm gazing at.

After a few minutes of just standing there, I nonchalantly picked up the hairbrush from the counter and brushed my hair roughly, nearly ripping it out to the point I felt tears pricking in the corner of my eyes from each sharp groom, as I looked in the mirror with no expression, the black mascara streaks tainting my cheeks. Who knows, maybe I just wanted to feel something, and pain was the only thing I knew how to feel.

So here I am, watching Friends, wanting to feel some emotion, only to be more disappointed in myself for hoping I would've cracked a smile for at least one scene. Instead, I pathetically feel nothing.