Then I start in, eating harder than I ever have before.
***
I’m laying on the dirty floor of the room, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Nearly all the food is gone, my body is drenched in sweat, and my stomach hurts like I’ve never known before.
I’ve eaten more than I ever have before.
But the feeling is soothing because it’s better to feel the painful ache of the food in my stomach, than to feel the crippling agony threatening to shred my heart to pieces.
My mother abandoned me to raise him.
Jordan.
The man I’m in love with.
I’m truly that worthless.
I struggle to my feet. I’m going to be sick. But I hold it back.
I need the relief of doing this to myself.
Struggling my way to the bathroom, I kneel at the toilet. Fingers pressed together, I push back in my throat, and rid myself of the pain trying to consume me.
***
It’s still here. It didn’t work.
No.
They’ve taken this from me too.
My ability to stop feeling. To stop the pain from taking me over. And now it’s here, and my ribs feel as if they’re going to crack from the absolute agony that’s tearing through me.
No. No. No. No!
I hate him.
I hate her.
I’m glad she’s dead.
Crawling out of the bathroom, I struggle to my feet. My legs feel numb, my head woozy.
I stagger over to the bed. Scouring through the mess of empty bags and wrappers and containers that litter the bed and floor, I find some food. A bag of popcorn and some peanut butter cups.
No! I need more than this.
I check the bed for more food, but nothing.
Ripping open the popcorn, I shove it into my mouth, handfuls at a time, retching as I swallow, but I don’t care, I push through. Then I switch to the peanut butter cups. When they’re gone, I get down on my hands and knees, rummaging through the trash on the floor.
I find a jar of chocolate spread which had rolled under the bed. I crack it open and start scooping it out with my hand, shoveling it in my mouth.
Then the food’s gone, and I’m nowhere near full, but it’ll have to do. I stumble back to the bathroom, stand over the sink, and force the food back up.
Running the water, I try to wash the sick away, but the plug is blocked. There’s chocolate all over my hands and arms. Vomit in the sink. I lift my head and see myself in the mirror above it.
Disgusting.
Food is smeared across my mouth, my face … in my hair. There’s vomit on me.
I’m disgusting.
I don’t hate them – Jordan. Anna.
I hate me.
Anger that I’ve never allowed myself to feel tears through me. I slam my fist into the mirror.
It shatters, small shards falling into the sink.
Blood drips down from my hand landing on the white tiles beneath my feet.
But I don’t feel the pain in my hand, only the pain in my heart.
I close my eyes on the flood.
The self-hate. The disgust. The loss. The helplessness.
The gates open up, and it all comes washing in – fierce, like the force of a tsunami.
I grip the sink, opening my eyes, but I can’t see for the hot, burning tears.
I need to get out of here. I need more … something, anything.
Moving too quickly, shadows dance before my eyes, blinding me, taunting me. I stumble around the bathroom, searching for the doorway.
I’ve overdone it.
I’m going to black-out.
Fuck.
I reach my hand out for support, finding none, and it’s too late, I’m going down … hard.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Jordan
“I can’t take this any longer,” I say, grabbing my car keys off the table.
I’ve waited all day, but there’s been no sign of Mia.
And now it’s getting late.
And I’m beyond f**king worried.
I tried calling her cell a few hours ago. I got her number from the booking in sheet. How bad is that – I didn’t even know her cell number. But then I’ve never needed to call her, and I’ve not once seen her with a cell in all the time I’ve been with her. Still, I had to give it a try.
It was a dead end. It was switched off, and I couldn’t even leave a damn voicemail because her mailbox was full.
I’m frustrated, and I feel f**king helpless, so now I’m doing the only thing I can. I’m going to look for her.
“I’ll come with you.” Dad gets to his feet.
“No, stay here in case she comes back. If she does, call me right away.”
“Where are you gonna look?” he asks as I pull the front door open.
I pause. I have no f**king clue. I was just going to drive around Durango until I got an idea.
Turning back to him, I ask, “Where would you look?”
He rubs his hand over his short, greying hair. “If I were Mia and I was in a town that wasn’t home and not familiar, and after what she just found out … if it were me, I’d want a bar and alcohol … but I don’t think she’s that kind of girl,” he adds as I shake my head no.
“She’s not.”
“Then I’d want somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could be alone.”
“Where’s quiet?”
“Here,” he says.
“Another hotel?”
“I’d say so.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I run out to the Mustang and tear up the gravel, speeding out of there.
***