Soul Lines (Completed)

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen
Elle's POV

I awoke in darkness, sweat-dampened sheets coiling around me, trapping my legs like leaden chains. I didn't move, afraid to shut my eyes, too tired to get up, only blinking when the inside corner of my eye started to itch.

The morning light soaked my room, and lace patterns swayed sorrowfully across the ceiling like clouds. Splotches of blood stained my pillow, like wilted war poppies splashed against white. I tentatively touched the dip between my lip and nose. Dry blood flakes dotted my fingers like rust, and my nose was tender.

As I got up, I caught sight of the trees through the window, their gentle sway alluring, begging me to come and run within them. I froze, a chill ballooning in my chest. It wasn't the trees that made fear treacle through my veins; it was what they held, haunted by the ghosting memories of a wolf.

My breath came fast and uneven, and when I couldn't stand it anymore, I cast my eyes downward, turning away to strip the damp sheets from the mattress.

I bowed my head in the shower, the water pouring over me, my hair casting a veil over my face. The cold tiles stung my skin, but after a while, I didn't notice, and tendrils of steam were wisping through the air, clouding above me.

My arms were heavy, and my legs felt like blood no longer pumped through my veins, replaced by stone. The weight was in my thoughts, and they collected in my bones, squirrelling away to burden me with darkness.

My chest felt tight, the pressure building under my ribs. I wrapped my arms around my knees, pulling myself into a ball as the water washed away my thoughts. Fixating on the drumming downpour, the water blistered my skin, and I let the warmth fight the cold.

I stayed there until my fingers had aged and the pressure in my eyes settled. After a while, the water lost its salty trace, and I scrubbed until my face stung, carelessly trying to rid the remnants of tears from my skin.

Shivering, I stepped out, draping a towel around my shoulders, the cotton clinging to my body. I teetered on the edge of the bath, staring at the tiles until I could force the darkness away. And it was only when my desperate thoughts turned to the number of tiles in the bathroom that I thought about getting up.

Eighty-eight. Eighty-nine. Ninety.

I was about to get up, but the shadows flushed through my thoughts, so I also counted the tiles on the walls. Ninety-one. Ninety-two.

When the thoughts receded, I dragged myself from the bathroom, standing before the mirror in my room forlornly.

Dark rings of insomnia pierced through translucent skin, and red veins took over the whites of my eyes, like the crowded streets of a city. My hair, still wet, was plastered to my hollowed face, the darkness making me appear sick.

It was as though I had been through the nine rings of hell.

I couldn't look at myself anymore. I turned away, but my reflection followed me around the room. When it became too much, I pushed my hair back and set up my makeup, eager to disguise the horrors plaguing my night.

I let the familiarity of my routine take hold and allowed the monotony of applying my foundation to settle the erratic pulse of my heart. I'd formed the arch of my eyebrow so many times that the action steadied my hand. I sighed, letting the small comfort take over.

Nothing good could last forever, so when I was done, I diverted my attention to my wardrobe, kneeling before the bottom drawer, where I put discarded old, unwanted clothes I had never had the willpower to throw away. I traced the soft shirts, worn down from years of wear.