About That Sunday

Jessica: Haunted.

The mirror in front of me showed an unfamiliar body. Who was this woman gazing back at me? Although we shared many similar features this woman was a complete stranger.

The bruises still lingered. Their once dark colors are now a worn dull yellow. The aches were gone and I felt no lingering pain. In fact I felt nothing at all other than anger. In a few days' time I would have no physical evidence of what he had done to me. In a few short days my skin and body would be free from it, but my mind; my mind will forever be bruised from the events of that night.

There wasn't a day that passed where the memory of that evening didn't haunted me. All of the details flooded back into my mind days ago. All of the pain and the screaming echoed through my mind and haunted my every thought. Every moment was not completely haunted.

"It's only been a week. One long, miserable, haunting fucking week." I thought to myself. "Stop fucking thinking about it."

Ryan and his sister Chelsea were the only ones who knew. My friends were left in the dark.  I couldn't bring myself to tell them or my family. The truth is I didn't want that look. The look of pity and sorrow mixed with guilt. The very same look that Chelsea gave me today in her office. I didn't want that look from her or any of them because I was already feeling it enough on my own.

I dressed myself in front of that mirror hoping something would change. Maybe I would be able to see something other than those bruises or his dirty fucking hands on me. Maybe one day something would change.

My nightgown hugged by body, I felt the fabric slide over my skin as I pulled it into place. The feeling of the fabric made me cringe. It was like nails on a chalkboard. It confused me and tortured me as it caused my senses to work in overdrive. I felt my anger start to flare as my mind went to the only emotion that still functioned, anger.

"Fuck!" I screamed as I threw my phone against the wall. "Get it together Jess!"

Most of my evenings were like this. The anger came with ease. I had broken a few remotes as I heaved them against the concrete wall of my New York apartment. My other emotions had found a hiding place deep in the back of my mind.

I haven't smiled in days. There was no joy left. My eyes refused to release any more tears. It was as if the plumbing to them had broken completely.

I walked over to my cellphone. For some unforeseen reason it was still working. There was a crack across it where the screen had hit the wall. That very second I realized just how alike the phone and I were. Someone had abused me the way I had abused it and here are. Both cracked beyond repair and still functioning.

How completely ironic.

Exhausted and mentally drained I climbed into my Queen bed. It was still early but I just wanted this day over. I spoke to Chelsea and gave her the best thank you I could muster up. I her put my number in my phone after she gave me her card and I vowed to never speak about it again. Of course not speaking about it was easy, turning my mind off was a whole other story.

Sitting on the nightstand next to my bed was a bottle of vodka. It was half empty. The other half was downed down last night in a desperate attempt to sleep. Down the hall, in my trash bin next to my kitchen island rested another five bottles. I stared at that bottle and thought about how fucked up I had become. Drinking was something I rarely did, nothing about it appealed to me. But just couldn't stop. The numbness was more comforting than the truth. The numbness is what I was living for now and the only time I felt it was when I was drunk.

The truth is, I couldn't close my eyes without feeling his hands on me. The liquid numbed me my body and my mind enough to fall asleep.

I grabbed it from the table and downed as much of it as I could; embracing the numbness that it would provide later.My breathing grew rapid after I chugged the remainder of the bottle like some out of control sorority girl trying to prove how much liquor she could handle.

Looking down at my hand I noticed the death grip on the neck of the bottle. My knuckles grew white as I gripped it. I was choking the life out of that inanimate vodka bottle as if it had been the reason for my sorrow.

I felt my anger starting to build again. Like simmering water forgotten on the stove I felt myself beginning to boil it over. The vodka bottle left my hand rapidly. It exploded against the wall and shattered into a thousand microscopic pieces all over the ground.

The alcohol flowed through my veins like poison and caused my attempt at standing to end in an utter failure as I also crashed to the ground. The impact stung as the glass from the bottle pierced my legs. The tile floor was freezing and yet again I found myself in shambles on a tile floor.

My lavender blanket hung from my bed and draped down along my shoulder. From the corner of my eye I could see my phone at the edge of the bed; so I reached for it. My fingers typed away as my eyes struggled to stay open. With my mind hindered from the liquor that dominated my actions I could hear an outgoing call ringing. Then a voice echoed through the speaker.

"Chelsea Marin."

Fuck!

For some unknown reason my mind had subconsciously caused my hands to call her. And there she was, on the other line and expecting someone to answer her.

"Chelsea, its Jessica." I slurred out just above a whispered.

Why had I called her? What's wrong with me?

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you. I-I have to go." I rushed through my sentences hoping to end the conversation before it could begin.

"Jessica where are you?" Chelsea asked, her voiced never altered from her usual business tone. "Don't hang up where are you?" She added, demanding me to answer her.

"I'm home. I have to go." I slurred into the phone and hung up.

My end table doubled as my support. I to use to climb back up off the cool floor. My wobbly legs led me down the hall to the kitchen.

Nestled in the corner of my fridge was an opened bottle of wine. I received it as a gift from one of my screenings not too long ago. It was red, dry, and bitter but it's taste wasn't what mattered right now. Right now I need to forget everything and everyone so I could finally close my eyes for the night.

"To my bright future." I toasted to myself as I slumped down in my arm chair.

Time passed rapidly as I downed the wine. Through my apartment you could hear the faint sound of horns. New York's streets were alive and screaming. There were no sounds to be heard from my living room though. I sat in silence and drank my wine directly from the bottle as I felt myself grow unstable. Just sitting upright was becoming a task.

"F-uck you Richarrr." I slurred to the emptiness.

"What?" A soft voice filled the emptiness in the apartment.

My eyes were blurry and everything in the room seemed to be moving slowly around me as I attempted to look around the room.

"Jessica, give me the bottle." The voice spoke again.

"G-go away-y." I slurred on my words. "You. Are. Not. Real!" This time the bottle escaped my fingers. Red wine found its way deep into my rug and when I leaned down to grab it I lost my all of my stability. My entire body fell forward.

Two hands landed on my shoulders and gently leaned me back in the chair. My hazy tried eyes tried to focus on who it was but everything was spinning.

"Just stay here I'm going to find you a blanket."

That the voice was the last thing I heard. My eyes closed and I drifted away into slumber.

~~~~~~

Sleep is easy. Getting there is a nightmare. Waking up, that's an even greater nightmare. It wasn't always like that. There was a point where waking up from a nightmare was a relief. Now that relief is gone. The hope of waking up from this nightmare is forever gone. So I'll sleep, because sleep is the cousin of death and when I'm awake, that's my hell. My living, breathing dose of hell on earth.