Believe Me ✔️

[4] The Morning After

Everything hurts. My head. My legs. My jaw. Everything hurts. Sunlight peeks in through the curtains, blinding me awake, and I rise a sore arm to shield my eyes. What's wrong with me? I sit up in pain, groaning, and hold my breath still and careful. My eyes adjust to the room. I recognize the purple curtains and my art hanging on the wall. I look down at myself and scream. I'm naked from the waist down, sitting in a pool of dried blood. What? I jump back and bump my head against the bedframe. My purple underwear lays beside me on the pillow. With shaky hands, I reach over and pick them up. I was wearing these yesterday. Why are they off? Oh God. I remember. I remember everything. My bedroom door opening and closing. He was there and then he was on top of me. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Paul raped me.

My shoulders shake with sobs and I turn the alarm clock towards me. 6:53 AM. AS I climb out of bed, my legs give out underneath me and I fall face first into the carpet. I bite my lower lip to stop myself from crying harder. My gym shorts are tucked underneath the bed. I wore these last night, too. I grab the bed for balance and pull myself up, whimpering with each step I take towards my desk. Last Night plays on repeat in my head. I want to it stop. I want everything to stop. I close my eyes and hold a hand to my head. I have the worst headache in the world. Stumbling to the counter, I open the drawer and grab the bottle of painkillers, double checking the label before I take two.

Paul came in during the party. Didn't anyone see him? Didn't anyone hear me scream? Didn't anyone care? My eyes land on the doorknob, the lock. The lock! My bottom lip quivers, words trembling as they come out in quick breaths. "I-I didn't lock the door. I should have locked the door. Why didn't I lock the door?" I grab the cold doorknob and twist it. I open the door and run to the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me. I don't want to remember it anymore. I need Last Night off of me; I need him off of me. Peeling off my damp shirt, I drop it in the laundry basket before climbing in the shower. Hot water. I want the hottest water.

The water shoots out and covers me and I let it burn. I grab the sponge and start scrubbing. My arms, neck, legs. Every part of me he touched. I don't realize how hard I'm scrubbing until I notice the red blotchy patches on my skin. I don't care. I need it gone. I drop the sponge as I start crying again, hiding my face in my hands. Sobs escape me as my chest tightens. I can't breathe. Water gets in my mouth and I start choking and coughing. I step away from the water and lean my head against the wall, my body shaking as I learn how to breathe again. I need to calm down. I can't. All I can think about is Paul and the bed moving and how bad my legs hurt.

I trace a finger over the stained bruises on my arms and thighs. A sharp pain jolts through my jaw as I turn my neck. Why does my jaw hurt so bad? I turn off the water and wrap a towel around myself, carefully stepping out and avoid eye contact with myself in the mirror. Deep breaths, Addy. Just keep breathing. I grab my toothbrush, squeezing out some toothpaste, and I cry out in pain as it touches my mouth. I reach inside, navigating my hand to find where it hurts. I wrap a finger around a loose tooth and I yank it out, choking out blood. I spit in the sink and stare at the tooth in my hand. What the hell? I let the water run and watch the blood wash away.

This is just a normal day. Nothing happened to me last night. If I don't think about it, Last Night never happened. If it never happened, I go on living my life. I walk back to my room and lock the door. I double check and shake the doorknob. I don't look at the bed; I can't. I cover the stain with my blanket and turn towards the dresser. I change into clean underwear and without even thinking, try pulling pants on and gasp in pain. I didn't know that was going to hurt so bad. Kicking them aside, I go to the closet and put on a loose blue dress with sleeves long enough to cover my arms, thankfully. I've had this since freshman year; I'm surprised it still fits. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I feel disgusted and ashamed. I go back in the closet and throw on one of Logan's hoodies he left behind.