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I LOVE YOU, I’M SORRY

Lizzie

DECEMBER 12, 2003

T HIS WAS A BAD IDEA FROM THE GET-GO .

I shouldn’t have come.

But here I was.

Fucking up another important night of his life.

Because this was Hugh’s night, not mine.

He was the one celebrating their team’s win, not me.

But when Pierce invited me, I honestly couldn’t give up the chance to see him again. A part of me wanted to spy on him, to see if he had moved on, to break my own fucking heart. Because if he was moving on, then I needed to witness it. Maybe then I could get some sleep at night. Maybe I wouldn’t keep choking on my regret.

I was drunk.

I knew I was, but the alcohol running through my veins had nothing to do with my actions.

I couldn’t blame the vodka for my following Pierce upstairs, nor could I blame the shots for the other parts.

No, it was all me.

Something was broken inside of me, had been since Caoimhe died, maybe even before it, and I was drowning in the aftermath.

Lying down on the mattress, I let the boy I’d ruined my life with do what he wanted to my body.

When he was finished with me, he climbed off the bed, zipped up his jeans, offered me a half-hearted stroke on the cheek, and disappeared back downstairs to his friends, leaving me alone in my thoughts, in my turmoil.

Feeling used and dirty, I quickly grabbed my clothes and bolted into the adjoining bathroom.

The moment I had the lock turned on the door, I sank to the floor in a heap, letting the scalding tears assault my cheekbones.

Fighting back the urge to scream, I bit down hard on my fist and slammed the back of my head against the door repeatedly.

I needed the pain.

It was the only thing that tuned out the noise. Because the noise in my head hurt so much more than any physical pain I could endure.

It wasn’t enough.

Nothing seemed to be enough.

All I had was images.

Memories.

His sweaty body.

The fear.

The cries.

The sensations.

The pain.

The weight of him.

The sound of the mattress springs creaking.

Of a different life.

Of an alternate universe.

I needed to stop feeling her pain.

It didn’t belong to me.

It wasn’t my trauma.

Feeling the panic blow over into hysteria, I snatched a random toothbrush off the basin and used all my force to crack it in half.

Frantic, I cast the half with the head of the toothbrush aside, using the other piece instead. The rigid plastic wasn’t perfect, but it would do what I needed it to do.

Fisting the plastic handle in my left hand, I began to stroke the jagged end against my thigh.

Gently at first, until I built up enough momentum for the sharp, scalding sensation to assault my senses when the sharp ridge tore its way through the upper layer of my skin.

Breaking through the skin was a challenge but one I relished.

Relentless now, I moved my hand back and forth in a ferocious rhythm, biting down on my free hand when the pain became almost unbearable.

But I couldn’t stop yet.

Because I wasn’t tired.

I wasn’t sated.

I wasn’t stable.

I needed this.

I needed to make the images leave my head and this was how I accomplished exactly that.

That’s how I made him go away.

Only when the flesh of my thigh was indistinguishable from the blood dripping from my hand did I stop.

Exhaling a ragged breath, I released my hold on my makeshift weapon and tossed it aside before placing both hands on the cool tiles beneath me.

Closing my eyes, I breathed in deep and slow, letting myself sit with the pain for a moment.

Letting my brain rewire the pathway from mental pain to physical pain.

Taking in a few sacred moments of peace .

Lightheaded and broken, I slumped, my back against the door, and held my breath, hoping that if I held it long enough, I might drift off to sleep and wake up back in Hugh’s bed.

A little while later, when I was redressed and back downstairs, I was hit with the familiar tsunami of guilt. The moment I walked into the living room and locked eyes with Hugh, I felt my shame swallow me whole.

His whiskey eyes seared holes through my soul, and I wanted to both run into his arms and throw myself off a bridge.

He knew exactly what I had done upstairs with another boy, and it made me feel every bit the whore the monster molded me into.

I could see it in Hugh’s eyes that it was over for him, that my actions tonight only solidified his decision to walk away.

I had spent weeks trying to convince myself I did the right thing. That in the long run, Hugh would be better off hating me. If he didn’t love me, he couldn’t get hurt. If he stayed away from me, he would be safe.

Therefore, I should have been feeling glad about the disappointment in his eyes. It was what I wanted, after all. What needed to happen to set him free from the hell that was loving me.

But when he walked outside, I couldn’t seem to stop my feet from following him.

Ignoring the evil glares I received from some of his teammates and the way they muttered the word whore when I walked past them, I kept my eyes trained on Hugh’s back.

Following him into the night, I trailed every step he took until it led to a stable. When I finally worked up the courage to speak to him, he was leaning against a stable door, with his back to me, scratching a horse’s ear.

“Hi,” I squeezed out, hovering at a slight distance from him.

His entire frame stiffened and the hand he was using to stroke the horse froze.

“How are you?” I decided to add when he didn’t respond.

Exhaling a pained breath, Hugh slowly turned around to face me. “What do you want, Liz?”

You . “I just wanted to say hi.”

“Hi,” he replied flatly.

I continued to hover, both unwilling and unable to leave. “Are you okay?”

Hugh stared at my face like the question offended him.

Then he muttered something unintelligible under his breath before turning his attention back to the horse. “It’s cold out here. You should go back inside.”

“I don’t care,” I strangled out, clasping my hands tightly.

“Yeah,” he replied softly, while he continued to give the horse his full attention. “You don’t seem to care about a whole lot these days.”

“I care about you,” I choked out, unable to stop my legs from moving to him. “You’re the only thing I care about.”

“I know you think you do,” he replied, straining away when I tried to hug him.

“I do care,” I argued, feeling the familiar scald of tears. “I love you.”

“And I love you,” he replied simply. “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

“Can we fix this?” Sniffling, I used my sleeve to wipe my cheeks.

“Your eyes are black,” he said sadly. “You’re not well, and Pierce shouldn’t be taking advantage.”

“I don’t care about him,” I cried, pulling on his arm. “I only care about you.”

“You need to get some help, Liz.” He sounded so torn. “You need to do it, okay?”

“If I take my meds, will you take me back?”

“You should take your meds regardless, Liz.”

“But would it help?” I choked out, feeling desperate. “Would you take me back?”

“No, Liz.” Releasing a broken sigh, Hugh shook his head and stepped around me. “I’m never taking you back.”

“Then what’s the fucking point of taking them!” I cried out hoarsely, as I watched him walk out of the stable. “Hugh, no, please don’t go!”

“Get better, Liz,” was all he replied before disappearing in the darkness.

“I love you,” I sobbed hysterically, sinking to the ground. “I’m sorry.”