Page 27 of Apathy
But one question that kept popping up much more than the other ones was, maybe it was supposed to be me? I didn’t know any other Skylar, and the eerie resemblance the two of us shared couldn’t be missed. Whoever the killer was, they were after me. I knew they were after me.
“Sky.” The door of the bathroom rattled as Dylan knocked. “Are you okay?”
Was I okay? No, I wasn’t fucking okay.
I wasn’t seeing myself in the mirror. My eyes weren’t mine. My lips didn’t belong to my body. My hair looked exactly like hers. Blonde strands colored with red, and a lifeless face stared back at me. I was seeing her, her pleading eyes and lips forever frozen as she screamed.
But no one heard her.
“Skylar!” Dylan bellowed.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
I didn’t want him to come in. If Dylan saw this lost look on my face, he would get more concerned than he already was, and I didn’t want him to worry about me.
Yes, I went through something traumatic, but I would be okay. Right? People do this all the time, and they survive those traumatic experiences. I was alive, I was well, and I was going to forget about her haunting blue eyes and the violence spreading through that forest.
But I was lying to myself, and I knew it.
I was a good liar, good at pretending that everything was okay when nothing was. Nothing was ever going to be okay, because seeing her like that—her young life extinguished before it could even start—reminded me of Zane, and it felt as if my insides started burning again with the pain I was trying to forget.
No, no, I couldn’t deal with this shit. I talked the good talk, but when it came to facing reality, I was a chickenshit who couldn’t comprehend what was happening. I knew what monsters looked like—they’re pretty faces, pretty smiles, charming fucking bastards, living in the perfect skin.
But when you knew what the monster looked like, you could survive. This time… This time I didn’t know who the monster was. And worst of all, what if the monster isn’t on the street? What if the monster is in the mirror?
What if I was to blame for her death? After all, whoever killed her might have been after me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck… What if somebody knew about Zane and our involvement in it? What if somebody was playing a game with all of us? But who?
My phone kept buzzing on the sink, the incoming messages and calls all going unanswered and unopened. I couldn’t deal with people right now. I should check on Lauren, but I didn’t have it in me to be social anymore today. The rest of the guys probably found out what had happened by now, and I was sure they were the ones trying to reach me.
But I was tired—tired of people, tired of tragedies, tired of living the life I hated. I just wanted to disappear, to get away from here, to forget about Winworth and everything that has happened here.
I looked at the small stand with drawers next to the sink, knowing what was inside. Knowing that it could help me forget, at least for a little while. I was getting too dependent on these pills, but I didn’t know how to deal with reality and everything that was going on around me. I didn’t know how to be present and save my mind at the same time.
So, I pulled the first drawer open and took out a small burgundy box holding all my hair ties and clips I used to use as a kid. No one would ever look in here, and it was the perfect place to hide the small bag Lauren gave me three months ago.
I hadn’t needed to use it before, because we always hung out together, and either she or Kane always brought what I needed. And if it wasn’t them, thenhealways had what I needed to get through the night.
My hands shook as I opened the lid and threw the colorful hair ties on the top of the stand, followed by the pins I never really used anymore. The colors were a stark contrast to what was going on through my head, through my body and my heart. They were the reminder of a time when I was just a little girl, wearing rose-colored glasses and believing that the world was a happy place. I wished someone had told me earlier that the world wanted nothing more than to destroy us.
I wished I knew what was going to happen to me, to my friends, because then I would’ve been prepared. Then my mind wouldn’t be such a fucked-up mess like it was now. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, echoing in my ears. Sweat gathered above my upper lip as anticipation started building inside my veins.
The rush of calm was what I needed. A quiet place for my mind and nothingness that followed, that was the high I always chased. Drugs that made my heart race, that made me feel happy, those weren’t the drugs I needed right now. I wanted to quiet the demons whispering in my ear.
I wanted to stop eyeing the razor on the bathtub, calling me, whispering that everything was going to be okay if I picked it up and sliced it through my skin. I didn’t need any more scars, and I didn’t want any more blood.
Not today.
Removing the paper hiding the bag, I stared at it, the ten white pills calling my name. Everything was going to be okay now. I was going to be okay now.
I took the bag out and threw the box on the floor, the sound of the impact echoing in the silent bathroom. My phone kept buzzing, my heart kept thundering, but my attention was on the plastic bag in my hand and the oblivion that was about to come.
Oxy.
A sweet temptation, sweet oblivion, and devastation. I was warned that Oxy often led to heroin use, but I didn’t give a fuck at this point. I just wanted to forget, and if swallowing two or three or four of these could help me today, so be it.
I filled the glass standing on the sink with water, and sat down, leaning against the door. My entire body shook, anticipating what was about to come, knowing the effects, craving the release in this form. I untied the knot on the bag, and took out three of them, placing them on my palm.
