STAY WITH ME (WATTYS 2023)

CHAPTER 4. JANE DOE

*Author's note: Strong trigger warning! This book contains graphic depictions of violence with some disturbing scenes involving m*rder and the use of weapons, torture, domestic violence, including mental and physical abuse, sexual situations and mature language. It may trigger certain individuals who are sensitive to this subject matter. It is marked mature. You must be 17 or older to read this book.

I crawl over to the bathroom and use the last bit of strength I have to pull myself up to the sink. I vomit and wail out in agony as I struggle to breathe. When the waves of nausea and dry heaves finally subside and I've released the last of the wretched poison, that's within me, I stare back at the cold-blooded killer that's glaring back at me with the bloody knife in her hand and...I let it out.

I killed my best friend.

When I finally accept that reality, it rages through my mind and paralyzes my body. I stand here rigid and so fixated on my own reflection that I start picking apart every flaw that I never even recognized before; the ones Chase was too eager to point out to me when he was drunk and slinging insults my way to try to hurt me.

Who are you? This can't be real. I don't recognize you. You don't have it in you to do something horrific like this. You're a good girl. Daddy always said so.

I quickly dismiss everything as if it never even happened and slowly unwrap the complimentary bar of soap. I begin rubbing it between my hands under the warm water and lathering it up as I glance back at my distorted reflection. As I carefully watch the water fill the sink, I try to distract myself by concentrating on the bubbles forming and when they all disappear, I frantically scrub my face to get rid of any trace of the whore-like make up Chase always accused me of wearing too much of.

Why won't this fucking come off?

I scrub and scrub until my face stings and my eyes burn, but I can't seem to get it to come off. I grab the bar of soap again and furiously rub it back and forth across my face and still, it won't come off. In a fit if rage, I throw it at the mirror and scream, "FUCK!" I bash my head into the mirror over and over until it breaks and slivers of glass are imbedded in my forehead and there's a gaping hole between my eyes, with blood pouring out of it.

I finally stop myself when I see the blood covering the sink and floor and it starts running down my forehead and into my eyes. As it streams down and covers my face, I start having stomach wrenching flashbacks of the bloody crime scene and I become unhinged.

I scramble around looking for a pair of scissors and when I find a small pair in my makeup bag, I start cutting my hair off in big chunks. With each cut, I let out an ecstatic groan. It feels good to have control of what I'm doing to myself at the moment. The scissors become slippery and difficult to control, as I have to stop occasionally to wipe the blood from my face. I continue wacking away at my disgusting long hair in between violent rants about Emily.

"I don't want to look like her anymore! She was always flirting with him right in front of me and she was supposed to me my fucking best friend! It's all her fucking fault I did this! She gave me no choice! She tore my fucking heart out when I caught her in bed with him. How could she do this to me?"

When I come to grips with how out of control I have become, I drop the scissors and take a couple of steps back from the sink. When I get the first real glimpse of the bloodied face girl with the chopped off hair in the broken mirror, I realize for the first time that I'm not ok and I need help.

I fall to the floor and hear glass crunch under the weight of my body. Excruciating pain begins to radiate up from my knees and the sad thing is...the real agony isn't the shards of glass gouging out of my legs or my face. No, the real agony is the realization that I'm slowly unraveling and I have nobody to help me. I can't trust anyone anymore. I'm on my own and it's terrifying.