FicWad

And then she broke her skin.
It came naturally, in a way that scared her. Her mind asked for more but she knew that it was wrong. And the urge to purge was deeper, darker and stronger than ever. Not vomit, no, purge, the physical act of sticking a finger or a toothbrush or a fork down your throat and feel your stomach twitch and feel your head burn as everything screams. That was what she wanted.
Purity and the quick way out.
Shame and pain. And every inch of her felt black, burned, charred, disgusting. Every single bit of her body, she wanted to rip out chunks of her flesh and watch it all bleed, burn and watch the skin bubble, hear it hiss and pop, endorphines swirling all over.
A knock on the bathroom door. Tomo. The one fire she thought would’ve never burned out, extinguished by distraction. Nobody knew if she would’ve made it through the coma alive, or if it would’ve all burned down to the unspoken, the unmentioned. Death. They had had to abort the child, it was hard enough to keep one person alive, let alone two. They said that if she made it she would need to learn everything all over, walk and talk and be Vicki. But the one thing nobody ever talked about, no doctor or physiotherapist or nurse ever thought about was how the husband would’ve reacted to this tidal wave of pain.
He had burned out. A shell of everything. Nothing but ash, nothing but charred remains.
And all that Rebecca could do was lie on a bathroom floor, face down, forehead pressed against cool ceramic. Pain bubbling.
Preferring to shut herself out and choose the easy way out instead of facing it all.
Because what the last months had been was nothing but confusion.
First Shannon then Vicki then Emma then Jared, Jared who couldn’t let go of her, and maybe the biggest pain of all was seeing the tears well up in the youngest of the Letos’ eyes, the light leave Tomo’s. Maybe it was all her fault.
She curled up, fetal position, little ball, squeezed her eyes tight.
“Sweetie?”
He opened the door, queit. A creaking sound.
A sigh.
“Rebecca…”
He crouched down next to her, laid a cool hand on the back of her neck.
Suppressed memories of rape made her body tense.
“It’s OK. It’s Tomo.”
Go away, I don’t deserve your pity.
He shook her, slightly.
“Becca?”
She felt the familiar rusty taste of tears begin to flood her mouth.
“C’mon…we’re gonna get you all patched up…show me your arm.”
IT WAS VICKI WHO USED TO SAY THIS. And tears flowed, and she wa unable to stop them.
No crying. In font of anyone. No. Don’t show them you’re weak.
“Becca, show me your arm.”
Fear. Guilt. DON’T. But he’ll get mad.
She sat up. It stung as he rubbed alcohol on her right arm, on her thighs.
“There…want a band aid?” The sadness in his voice made her quiver.
She smiled, and it was all she could do.
“Can…can I have the scissors?
She reluctantly handed them over.
He stood up.
“Tomo?”
“…yeah?”
“Why are you doing this for me?”
He looked down. Sigh. Again.
“Because you’re my friend. And I love you. That’s why. That’s what friends do.”
“But I don’t..”
“…deserve it? I’ll tell you what you don’t deserve: you don’t deserve whatever shit is going on in your head.”
Tears. Again.
“I miss her.”
Tomo looked up.
“Yeah, me too.”