Tortured Twilight
1152 Words
Shay:
My hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning nearly white, but even that small sensation barely registered in my numb mind. The hours of the double shifts were weighing on me, pulling me down like invisible chains. Every inch of my body screamed for rest, for a moment to just collapse and breathe without the burden of everything hanging over me.
My eyelids tried to flutter closed, the road ahead a blur as I tried to refocus on the never ending road ahead in me. The low hum of the engine, the rhythmic whoosh of the tires against the pavement, and the soft, steady beat of my pulse were the only things keeping me tethered to the present. But even those felt like they were slipping away, as though I were floating outside my own body.
Somehow, I kept driving, the distance between me and home shrinking, though I had no idea how I’d made it this far. The exhaustion was a thick fog clouding my thoughts, and I couldn’t remember the last time I felt awake, truly awake.
But then, suddenly, the familiar street signs appear, and the dull ache in my chest lightens just a little. Home.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The car slowed as I pulled into the drive on my dreary apartment complex, the tires squealing softly in protest against the long drive. I managed to park, though every movement felt like it took all the energy I had left.
I stared at the second story when my front door stood for a moment, my gaze unfocused. The apartment was there, waiting, offering nothing but a place to fall into, but even that felt like too much right now. I leaned back and closed my eyes, trying to muster the last bit on strength I had left.
Somehow, I gathered myself together to climb the stairs, unlock the door, step inside, and close it behind me. The silence of the apartment wrapped around me like a blanket, soft but heavy, and I could barely feel my legs move as I made my way to couch. I collapsed, my body sinking into the cushions, my mind already slipping into darkness.
"Made it home," I whispered to herself, though I didn’t know if I meant it as a relief or a warning.
My pulse thundered in my ears as I eased my shoes off my aching feet, crazing any sort of relief. The flickering oven clock in the distance told me it was already 1:25 AM. I stood up and made my way to the kitchen for a glass of water before bed. I walked to the sink and set my purse on the counter. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and turned the sink on. I was mindlessly watching the running water fill my cup when I felt it—cold, hard pressure at my throat. Before I could react, I was slammed against the wall, my glass shattering against the hardwood floor. My back hit it with a sickening thud, my last bit of breath being cast from my lungs. His grip was brutal. His fingers dug into my neck, cutting off my air in short, desperate gasps.
“Where the hell have you been?” Shawn’s voice was slurred, rough with alcohol. He reeked of it, of whiskey and something else, something darker. His breath burning against me, hot and foul against her skin.
“Work,” I choked out, my voice strained, tears rimming my tired, red eyes, treating to slip any moment. I knew it wouldn’t be enough to calm him. Nothing ever was.
“No," he spat, the word a bitter accusation. “You’ve been with him, haven’t you? Your precious boyfriend. You’ve been gone all day, don’t lie to me.”
I shook my head frantically, my heart hammering. “No, Shawn... I came straight home after work. You were asleep. I swear."
The grip on my throat tightened, the world narrowing as my feet barely touched the floor. My head spun from the pressure. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Every attempt at speaking felt like it might be my last.
“Stop it!” I gasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Please, Shawn, please...." the words coming out in desperation.
He didn’t listen. His palm came down with a sickening crack against my cheek, and my vision blurred as a sharp pain exploded through my face. Blood poured from my lip, warm and sticky, dripping down my chin. I touched my face, my fingers trembling against the sting.
He dropped me like a ragdoll, and I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. The shattered glass cutting into my knees, but I couldn't think about that right now.
Shawn turned without a word, leaving me there in the cold, silent apartment. The door slammed behind him, leaving nothing but the echo of it in his wake.
I stayed on the floor for a moment longer, too numb to move, too shocked to fully process what had just happened. Blood dripped from my lip, but it didn’t feel like my body. Nothing did. All I could think about was the door, the silence that swallowed me whole, and how everything was always the same.
The silence that followed was suffocating, pressing against my chest like a weight I couldn’t lift. My body ached, my lip throbbed, and the ghost of his hand still lingered around my throat.
I forced myself to move, one step at a time, my limbs heavy as if they belonged to someone else. I made my way to the bathroom, barely recognizing my own reflection in the mirror. My cheek was red, already beginning to bruise, and a thin trail of blood ran from my lip. My eyes looked hollow—empty. Like I wasn’t even in my own body anymore.
Shawn was gone. For now. That was all that mattered.
I turned the shower on and let the steam fill the room before peeling off my clothes. Each movement felt slow, deliberate, like I was afraid my body might shatter from the effort. When I stepped under the stream, the hot water hit my skin, and I sucked in a sharp breath. It stung, burning against the fresh wounds, but I didn’t move away.
I watched as my blood spiraled down the drain, mixing with the water, disappearing as if it had never been there. I wished it were that easy—to let everything wash away, to be clean, new, whole. But no amount of scrubbing could fix what was broken inside me.
I leaned against the cool tile, pressing my forehead against it, my breath shaky. I felt like a shell of myself. Hollow. Helpless.
Tears burned at the edges of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn’t change anything. It never did.
- Writer
