Page 5 of Broken Skulls (Rebel Skull MC #7)
Chapter Four
Lizzie
I sit in the bathtub until the water grows cold, and I begin to shiver. My fingers fumble over the edge of the tub, searching for my towel.
Everything is harder in the dark. Everything has to be done delicately and with thought. Not being able to see forces you to be present.
Yet, I’m finding the darkness easier in some ways.
There’s no one here to judge me. I don’t have to blur the faces of everyone around me to shield myself from their looks of pure hatred.
Here no one hates me.
Other than me hating myself.
I guess the man on the other side of the wall might hate me. I don’t know. He hasn’t spoken to me since the day I woke up here.
You know what else is nice about this place?
Not waking up to the fucking sunlight.
I think the nurses opened my curtains every morning just to fuck with me. They always let it shine right in my eyes. A form of torture I’m sure they thought I deserved. But not once did I rise from that bed and close them. I could have, but I didn’t care enough to. Let the world torture me. It will always be worth it.
For her.
Everything for her.
“Yeah, I don’t miss the sun.”
“You do too. You’re a goddamn sun worshiper.”
“I am not. I could stay here forever.”
“You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to me. I live here, too.”
I snap my mouth shut when I hear the little door on the other side of the wall slide open. Quietly, I slip to the floor and over to it. His is already closed.
“What’s your favorite music?” he asks, startling me.
His voice sounds familiar, but I can’t place him. I rise to my knees, facing the little box. I think about his question, but I don’t answer him.
“Hmm,” he hums from the other side. “Not going to talk to me. I get it. It’s easier to talk to yourself right now.”
My fingers wrap around the sandwich he’s left before sliding the door closed.
Hours later, I fly from the bed, startled by the god-awful noise that is coming from the other side of the room.
I crawl over to the little box so I can yell at him. “Stop! Fine. You win. Anything but that. I’m crazy enough don’t you think?”
He chuckles on the other side after the noise – it sure wasn’t music – ends.
A few seconds later, some quieter, bluesy music begins to play.
“Better?” he asks.
“I prefer silence.”
“Well, I prefer you shut up and listen to something other than the sound of your own voice for a while. Do you always argue with yourself like that?”
Has he been listening to me? Shit. I didn’t mention her, did I?
“Maybe you should shut your brain off for a while.”
“Yeah, if you can tell me how to do that, I might not hurt you when you open the door.”
Again, he laughs. Glad I’m so amusing.
“I’ve got a few ideas that might help you shut your brain off,” he adds, his voice low and deep.
My stomach does a weird little thing. It must be the sandwich. I slide away from the wall and climb up on the bed, lying back.
I stare into the darkness as the music continues to play. Sadness begins to wash over me. As hard as I try to push it away, it doesn’t budge.
If you deprive yourself of something long enough, eventually you quit missing it. I had forgotten how much I love music. Being reintroduced to it is like a punch to the gut. I can’t escape it …
The fucking music is pulling my soul from the prison I’d locked it in. “You don’t deserve to hear anything pleasant,” I whisper.
But the me I like to argue with doesn’t listen. She’s too busy tapping her foot to the beat.
My eyes fall closed, and I have no choice but to join her … to surrender.