I take a shower in bathroom, relishing the sting of the hot water over my skin. Every part of me aches. If I could, I'd spend all night in the hot steam of the shower.
The images of watching myself get beaten is stuck in my brain and I can't shake it off. It was horrible and sick and inhumane and they had no heart.
They just kept going and going with no intention of stopping.
They wanted me to suffer just because I loved Simon.
Poor Simon, he was so angry and I let him go out to cool down, or scream or whatever he needed to do to get that anger out of him.
I feel rage towards them too.
How could they do this to me?
After everything we did together?
Shopping, doing homework, gossiping, taking care of each other?
Does that mean nothing to them now?
I rub a bar of soap over my ribs. I switch the water off, towel dry, and pull the T-shirt and boxers and over my limbs. I run a comb through my hair, watching my hair spring back to life.
I stare at myself in the mirror, trying to recognize myself. So many things changed tonight.
For starters, they killed two people again.
They killed my baby and they killed me.
They changed me.
I'm no longer the same.
I'm rougher, meaner, tougher, and angrier. I will never gain back my innocence of laughter, of joy, of happiness.
They forced me to grow older by teaching me the meaning of loss and pain.
Pain that lingers in my body and heart well past the event.
I can never bring back that life again.
And Simon has changed also along with the rest of the family.
They suffer too. Knowing what happened and feeling the guilt of not being able to protect me when I needed it.
Especially Simon.
But now, having watched that video, I know the truth.
Those girls know nothing about love and joy.
They only care about themselves.
That group they have is a front.
If even one of those girls does something against Marisol, she will not hesitate to beat them like they did to me. I grip the edge of the countertop and close my eyes, unable to look back at myself any longer.
I swallow, willing the tears away. I don't want this to continue. Ever again. I've lost so much because of them.
A knock on the door makes me jump. "You okay?"
It's Simon.
I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Yep," I say, forcing my voice to remain neutral.
"Then can you come out of there and talk to me?"
I sigh. Then I double-check that my eyes aren't as red-rimmed as they feel, and I leave the quiet of the bathroom.
When I walk into the bedroom, my bare feet padding across the carpet, the nerves in my stomach multiply. Simon sits at the edge of the bed, a remote in his hand, the blue of the television basking him in an odd glow. He's wearing a faded gray T-shirt, his hair sticking up. He looks natural, at ease in this environment.
I stop at the foot of the bed and swallow, fighting the urge to wring my hands. I know he must hate himself and those girls for letting this happen.
I can't think of anything to say it wasn't his fault.
He flicks off the television and drops the remote. The only light in the room comes from the moonlight outside, an odd light between the cracks of the partially closed curtains. Simon stands and steps toward me, slinging his arms around my shoulders and crushing me against him.
Relief floods through me as I rest my cheek against his shoulder, breathing in the fresh scent of his bar soap, the same scent that still lingers on my skin. His body is warm, soft, secure, and I could stand like this all day, ignoring the pain on my skin and in my heart.
He steps back just a bit and tilts my head upward with one finger. My eyes snap shut as his lips crash into mine.
In a mass of kisses and limbs, we tumble back onto his bed.
Something's different this time. The wall Simon put up whenever we used do this . . . whenever we went this far . . . is somewhere left behind. We're twisting and grabbing, pieces of clothing dropping to the floor. His lips are everywhere, my hands sliding up and down his body.
We can't get enough. Is it watching a near-death experience, driving us to act like this?
Our breaths come in loud, heavy rasps.
Simon moves to his nightstand to reach for something, and I nearly yank him back to me. But then he's back and settling on top of me; and when finally, there's nothing between us, his entire body against mine, hot skin on skin, our eyes lock.
"I love you," I whisper, my fingers raking across his bare back as he moves inside of me. I hadn't planned to say it, but the words float out with a sigh.
He leans down, rests his forehead against mine so that our eyes are so close, all I can see is a mass of brown and hazel swirling together, intense with emotion and need. "I love you, too."
I shut my eyes to keep the lone tear from escaping.
For the first time in the past weeks, I feel alive.