Who Can Save Charlie Rose? [hiatus]

snapped

TW: active SA, gore.

Just focus on getting through the day.

The woman that stared back at me in the mirror was a stranger. Hollowed eyes, lifeless— the inkling of sleep long forgotten. Restless nights that led into agonizing mornings. A cycle, a circle, a broken record skipping the same track again and again.

The steam from the running shower soon casted a sheen of condensation against the mirror. I moved away from the vanity and sludged my way to the lava-like waterfall. The scalding liquid seared my pale skin, turning it red.

Exhausted. Nothing was working anymore. Sex, drugs, liquor— it was never enough to fill the hole in my chest. Upping the dose, taking that extra shot...Nothing, nothing at all.

Carson had started to dangle the temptation of something harder in front of my face. My resolve was weaning, fading fast. I needed something, and soon, because I wouldn't be able to stop myself.

I massaged shampoo into my scalp with my nails, scraping the surface clean. Filth. Disgustingly stained with bruises and rotten memories, hazy and dotted with holes. No shower could cleanse me, it seemed.

The bathroom door squeaked. The scent of my shampoo mixed with the stench of hops and body odor. I jumped and slipped as the shower curtain was ripped open, a scream lodged in the back of my throat. With wide eyes, I stared through the steam to find Carson undressing.

"What the fuck, Daniels?"

He smirked, a bone-chilling expression, as he stroked himself. "Man can't shh–ower with his girl?"

I gritted my teeth and detached the shower head, switching it to the jet function and aiming it at his head. He howled and shouted, choking on the steaming hot water. Relentlessly, I held the stream against his face until he stumbled backwards out of the bathroom door, planting himself on his ass in the hall.

"There. You showered, and I helped."

I turned the knob until the water stopped and stepped out of the tub. Carson continued to splutter and cough on the hardwood floor. A giggle escaped my lips, and then I unraveled. Unfiltered joy spread through me, inciting a hard, deep fit of laughter. My chest began to burn and my throat became sore, but I couldn't stop laughing at the man writhing on the ground.

"F—Fuck you, Rosie," he coughed out, scrambling to his feet.

"Oh, fuck me?" I inquired rhetorically, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, fuck you!" Carson roared, rushing towards me, his bare feet slapping against the water on the bathroom floor.

The air was knocked out of my lungs as he shoved me against the shower tiles. The only way I could receive oxygen was through tiny, rapid gasps as my diaphragm spasmed. Even that was soon restricted as Carson curved his hand around my throat and pinned me against the wall.

I fought against him, jerking and flailing, to no avail. Rage blanketed his mind, bulged in his veins. My vision began to blacken and I felt him spread my legs. He roughly thrust into me, growling in my ear.

My heart was racing, my chest tight. My thoughts were incoherent, scrambled word jumbles of nonsense. The only constant was the alarm bell ringing between my ears as the light dimmed. My body felt separated from my mind, only tethered by the pain between my hips.

Months of being used as a piggy bank. As a spank bank. Years of abuse, years of fights. Take another pill, Rosie— Do this, do that. Sit still. Why are you so dry? The feeling of stinging cheeks due to back-handed attacks. Crying for forgiveness, on hands and knees.