Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74225 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
I eventually made my way into the shower, spending several minutes under the water long after it turned cold. When I finally dragged myself out I went to take a piss and caught a glimpse of my reflection out of the corner of my eye. I turned toward the mirror and faced someone I hadn’t seen in a very long fucking time. Someone I used to like looking at.
A lot.
I wasn’t fucking stupid. I knew that after the shit I’d been through that I wouldn’t exactly be GQ material.
But I also didn’t expect to be staring at a total fucking stranger either.
I leaned in close to the mirror. I felt around my long knotted beard with my fingertips and almost lost my shit when they dropped into my severely sunken cheeks. The bones around my dark and hollowed eye sockets protruded out like a fucking caveman. My once hazel eyes which now looked more like a muted shit-colored brown.
At least Grace won’t ever have to see me this way.
Even when my hair was at its longest, I’d always kept the top long and shaved the sides to show off the tattoos on both sides of my head. Post-torture, the parts that were normally short were grown out well past my shoulders, and for some reason looked much darker than the medium blond I remember it being.
I looked like a skinnier, demented version of Jesus Christ.
Walking death.
I could count my ribs, something I hadn’t been able to do since I was a kid and suddenly I was back on the playground again, getting the shit beat out of me by a sumo wrestler of a twelve-year-old who entered puberty well before his time.
Everything about the pathetic soul in that mirror told a story that didn’t bare repeating. My head spun. I grabbed onto the sink for support and lowered my head, staring at the thin ring of rust around the drain.
After every single motherfucking thing I’d been through in my life, I’d never considered myself a victim.
But a victim was all I saw in that mirror.
With one last scowl at my reflection I shuffled over to the toilet and leaned on the wall, pulling out my flaccid cock to take the piss I’d started to take earlier, but I couldn’t help but keep thinking about Grace.
You are a good person, my Samuel. You’re a good boy. Grace’s words rang in my head. You are loved.
Mid-piss I stepped away from the toilet, spraying urine on the seat and floor. I ripped open the cabinet under the sink. I knelt and my knees crunched loudly, like gravel being rubbed together. I groaned at the odd sensation and the even more awful sound.
“Are you okay in there, Preppy?” Doe asked from the other side of the door.
“Fine,” I barked back. Of all people she didn’t deserve my irritation. I instantly felt guilty. “Fine,” I repeated, softening my tone as much as I could although it wasn’t much when my teeth were still gritted and I was speaking through the splitting pain burning in my legs and torso.
“Okay, we’ll all be out in the living room. So...you know. That’s where we will all be when you’re done. Waiting for you.” Sadness filled her voice. “I’m so sorry, Prep,” she added. I heard the slide of her hand as she ran it down the outside of the door followed by the light padding of her feet on the carpet and finally, the sound of the outer door of the bedroom clicking shut.
I reminded myself to apologize to her for being such a dick. She didn’t deserve me throwing a tantrum just because of what I’d been through.
I was just so fucking tired. Tired of laying there in that bed for so long. Tired of wasting fucking time. Tired of not living.
Tired of being fucking dead.
And maybe I was just tired of being fucking tired.
Once I found what I was looking for I held onto the sink and righted myself to stand back up. I plugged in what I thought was the solution to my problem, waving it in the air tauntingly. “Bye-Bye, motherfucker,” I said to my reflection. I flipped the switch and swear I saw panic flash in his eyes as the buzzing sound echoed off the walls of the small bathroom.
I clicked over to the shave setting and ran the clippers over the top of my head from front to back in one long stroke.
A sense of immediate satisfaction coursed through me as I ran my fingertips over the newly sheared section of my head.
I needed to do more.
Much more.
ALL OF IT HAD TO GO.
I didn’t bother to cut the hair with scissors first so every strip I shaved off burned like I was slowly being scalped, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t give a shit about the pain.