Page 72 of Shamed
I don’t want to face the world yet.
Last night was a huge mistake, a terrible lapse in judgment. My mind and body were taken over by something foreign.
I guess I should be happy that I was able to get through my forced time in that dark room. But it came at a price, and I hate that I had to lose another piece of myself just to be able to do it.
Things are a little hazy, like I was in a dream-like state, but I remember dancing, and laughing, andnotfreaking out. I remember rubbing my body on those men and being okay with it. Mercifully, none of them took advantage of my inebriated state, and thoroughly enjoyed their dances with my outfit firmly in place.
Then, because I was feeling so good about how things were going, I decided to have a shot of tequila to celebrate between two of the clients, then again at the end of the night.
Naturally, those two shots hit me far more than they would anyone else, especially since I don’t usually drink, and I hadn’t eaten anything.
Candy probably would have had a drink with me, but she wasn’t working last night.
Melody was more concerned than anything, and less willing to celebrate, which is probably for the best. I have a feeling that she might have tried to walk me home had I not escaped before she could notice.
Turning over, I stare at my ceiling.
I can’t believe I acted so foolishly in front of Mase, rubbing my head on his chest and letting him see me in my underwear. Because, of course,thosemoments are crystal-clear in my hazy memory.
Add sick and gross to the list of things I feel this morning.
Covering my eyes with my hand, I let out a groan.
He saw myarms. The churning in my gut intensifies.
Lifting my hand, I run my gaze over the scarred and wounded flesh.
I only ever wear long-sleeved shirts or sweaters and hoodies. And at work, I always have elbow-length gloves on.
Yet, I took it all off last night without caring that he was in my home.
God, what was I thinking?
Iwasn’tthinking, and that’s the problem.
Maybe subconsciously, I wanted Mase to see the cuts, to see me.
He didn’t get a chance to ask about them, but I saw the questions in his eyes.
Why would you do this to yourself?
How long have you been doing this?
Why are thereso many?
I can only imagine what he’s thinking about it all, especially if he was already worried about me.
I had blurted out something nonsensical and escaped to the bathroom to shower, spending far longer in there than necessary. Partly, because I was still a little high and the water felt so good, and partly because I was avoiding him.
It was an asshole and cowardly thing to do.
Par for the course, I guess.
When I had finally left the bathroom, I had peeked into the living room and saw him sitting on my couch with his head tipped back and eyes closed. I don’t know if he was asleep or not, but I left him alone and got into bed, falling into a restless sleep minutes later.
I would love to stay buried in these blankets for longer, maybe even sleep the day away. Can my bed not just swallow me whole?
I guess I should get up and get myself and my mind sorted.
