There is little I allow anyone to discover about me. Thereâs even less Iâm willing to share about myself. And of the many things Iâve never discussed, this is one of them.
I like to take long baths.
Iâve had an obsession with cleanliness for as long as I can remember. Iâve always been so mired in death and destruction that I think Iâve overcompensated by keeping myself pristine as much as possible. I take frequent showers. I brush and floss three times a day. I trim my own hair every week. I scrub my hands and nails before I go to bed and just after I wake up. I have an unhealthy preoccupation with wearing only freshly laundered clothes. And whenever Iâm experiencing any extreme level of emotion, the only thing that settles my nerves is a long bath.
So thatâs what Iâm doing right now.
The medics taught me how to bind my injured arm in the same plastic they used before, so Iâm able to sink beneath the surface without a problem. I submerge my head for a long while, holding my breath as I exhale through my nose. I feel the small bubbles rise to the surface.
The warm water makes me feel weightless. It carries my burdens for me, understanding that I need a moment to relieve my shoulders of this weight. To close my eyes and relax.
My face breaks the surface.
I donât open my eyes; only my nose and lips meet the oxygen on the other side. I take small, even breaths to help steady my mind. Itâs so late that I donât know what time it is; all I know is that the temperature has dropped significantly, and the cold air is tickling my nose. Itâs a strange sensation, to have 98 percent of my body floating at a warm, welcome temperature, while my nose and lips twitch from the cold.
I sink my face below the water again.
I could live here, I think. Live where gravity does not know my name. Here I am unbound, untethered by the chains of this life. I am a different body, a different shell, and my weight is carried by the hands of friends. So many nights Iâve wished I could fall asleep under this sheet.
I sink deeper.
In one week my entire life has changed.
My priorities, shifted. My concentration, destroyed. Everything I care about right now revolves around one person, and for the first time in my life, itâs not myself. Her words have been burned into my mind. I canât stop picturing her as she mustâve been, canât stop imagining what she mustâve experienced. Finding her journal has crippled me. My feelings for her have spiraled out of control. Iâve never been so desperate to see her, to talk to her.
I want her to know that I understand now. That I didnât understand before. She and I really are the same; in so many more ways than I couldâve known.
But now sheâs out of reach. Sheâs gone somewhere with strangers who do not know her and would not care for her as I would. Sheâs been dropped into another foreign environment with no time to transition, and Iâm worried about her. A person in her situationâwith her pastâdoes not recover overnight. And now, one of two things is bound to happen: Sheâs either going to completely shut down, or sheâs going to explode.
I sit up too fast, breaking free of the water, gasping for air.
I push my wet hair out of my face. I lean back against the tiled wall, allowing the cool air to calm me, to clear my thoughts.
I have to find her before she breaks.
Iâve never wanted to cooperate with my father before, never wanted to agree with his motives or his methods. But in this instance, Iâm willing to do just about anything to get her back.
And Iâm eager for any opportunity to snap Kentâs neck.
That traitorous bastard. The idiot who thinks heâs won himself a pretty girl. He has no idea who she is. No idea what sheâs about to become.
And if he thinks heâs even remotely suited to match her, heâs even more of an idiot than I gave him credit for.