Retribution: The Cure for Agony

Chapter 13: Preparation

Sometimes I thought the nightmares had gone, but they lurked in the shadows, waiting.

They waited for the next time I tripped on a phase of triggers, then latched onto my depraved, vulnerable state. They tortured me with every fleeting moment as I was left to think of when the next dream would come.

My subconscious was supposed to be my counselor, but instead took the active role as Judas, justifiably punishing my transgressions in my turmoil. Yet I couldn't help wanting to peel my skin off or shed like a snake in hopes of becoming another person.

Maybe then those dreams would stop.

I slapped the notebook closed and tossed it next to me on the sheets. Every thing I wrote was wishful thinking. The nightmares would always be there to remind me, but I supposed in dreams there was hope of tomorrow. I couldn't say the same for hallucinations as they weren't as riveting; they were dangerous and it'd be so easy to hurt someone.

Find what you can be grateful for, I guess.

I continued to lay in bed, staring at streaks of light on the wall casted from the bedroom window. The Styrofoam board did a poor job in preventing the day from coming in and I flipped face down on my feather pillow. My eyes closed to find the cold, serene darkness.

I was about to fall asleep again until I heard the annoying, upbeat ringtone set for Rachel. I turned my head to look at the dresser, groaning, and the wall was lit up like the Fourth of July.

My entire body felt heavy as I rolled out of the comfort of my sheets to grab the phone. I squinted, staring at her name on the screen and took a deep breath. Wiping the sleep from my face, I answered it.

"Hey, I'm sorry I missed your call yesterday. I'm taking a couple of sick days, but I would still like to talk to you, um"—she sniffed her nose a couple of times—"would you like to come over?"

I glanced around my room before making my way out to the hall. "Sure, uh. I can come over within the hour if you want?" I reached into the dark hall closet, feeling for a towel and washrag.

"Yes, that'd be good. I'll see you then," she said, letting a couple moments linger, then hung up.

I felt my eyebrows come together as I pulled the phone away from my ear. It wasn't like we had a strict patient-therapist relationship. Considering Ben, we were practically friends, as much as people can be with a stream of lies flowing through every encounter.

I entered the master bathroom in my room and slid the shower door open. I reached in to turn the brushed-nickel lever and a cold waterfall hit my forearm, making me jump.

I wiped it off with the towel and grabbed my toothbrush and paste from the medicine cabinet. While brushing my teeth, I stared at myself in the mirror, going over the details of my face.

The dark circles under my eyes emphasized the paleness of my skin and the whites around my light blue irides had inflamed blood vessels, creating an unusual web. There were a couple of light wrinkles running across my shiny forehead, and to my surprise, I didn't have any gray hairs yet—just a black, greasy rat's nest in need of a good wash.

I rinsed my mouth, shuffled to the shower and put my hand in to feel the boiling water. One of my feet stepped up onto the travertine slabs as I reached around to turn the temperature down.

Pushing into the water, I stood under the lukewarm fountain, spacing off as I stared at the mud lines between the tiles on the wall. I thought of Melody and yesterday's dinner; the way her bare chest laid underneath my shirt and the thin fabric covering her pussy.