I sit on the floor of my tub with the pellets of water hitting my back like a whip. The past I’ve tried to drown becomes my nightmares at night when I lay my head down. I’ve run for so long, I don’t think I know how not to run, but yet I’m too tired to keep going.

               The sex with El last night was incredible. Mind-blowing, but it didn’t take the demons that lurk in my dreams—it only gave them more strength to break through.

               Slowly, I lift my head. My hair clings to my back and I feel trapped. By my past, by the present I’ve made for myself, just trapped by everything and I want to scream. But, I don’t have the energy to do it.

               As I rise, I turn off the shower and climb out of the tub. Not bothering to dry myself off, I grab my robe and pull it around my naked body. For a moment, it offers me a sense of false security.

               With one look in the mirror, I see someone who is spent and sleep-deprived, a person who isn’t in the proper mindset to go to work. I debate if I should call out. Problem is, if I do, I will be left with nothing but myself and she is a person I’d rather not be around today.

               Quickly, I grab some clothes from my closet and begin to dress hurriedly, even though I don’t have to be at the club for another six hours.

               I just have to get out of this house. Maybe I can walk around outside or just go to the club and do some inventory. Anything to keep me busy. I’m not picky.

               I don’t bother with looking in the mirror, as I usually do to make sure I’m flawless. Today, the world will see me sans makeup for the first time and in my ballet flats instead of heels. I throw my hair in a ponytail and grab my wristlet and cell phone.

               Turning to head towards my door, I stop in front of the jar that holds my self-worth. Anger bubbles from deep down inside of me. I have a sudden urge to knock the blasted jar to the floor, shattering it and the years I spent with his and her abuse. I want to yell out at the world that I was a child, damn it, and who was there to protect me? Why did these things happen to me? Would my life be different in some way had I not been the one he chose? If my father and baby brother did not die that night, would my life be like Cyma’s? Would Tick want me?

Would I know how to love myself?

If you can’t learn to love yourself, how can you show someone how to love you?

The anger morphs into pain, deep in my soul. Pain for all the lost years.

But instead of knocking the jar to the ground, I pick it up and cradle it in my arms like a newborn baby. I hold my self-worth in my arms protectively before placing it back in its resting place.

I yank the bedroom door open and walk out into the hallway, towards the living room, where I stop, too frozen to walk any further. My heart lurches in my chest and everything spins around me. There he sits, looking out of place in my small living room with the cheap furniture. But there he sits, waiting.

“W-what are you doing here?” I stammer.

He stands and exhales, looking uneasy, as if this is new territory for him. He takes a step towards me with trepidation in his eyes.

“I asked myself the same thing.” He looks down for a moment before returning his gaze to mine. “I don’t do this…” He twirls his finger in the air, as if the word he’s searching for would magically appear.

Shame overwhelms me as my cheeks flush. I look away for a moment as I try to gather my thoughts. “El, you don’t have to—” 

“I know I don’t.” He grinds his teeth, like he’s trying to force out the most difficult response in the world. This man—who is most likely a killer—looks lost and confused in a foreign emotion. “I’ve walked through life for so many years, not feeling, not caring.”

He turns his back to me, unable to say what he has to say unless he is looking at an inanimate object. “I even cut out my own family. I told myself it was for their safety. But it was also because I chose not to see myself and what could’ve been in my family’s eyes.” He turns back to me. “Yeah, I can walk away. Actually, that’s the thing I’m most comfortable with. But I have the feeling you and I are more alike than we care to admit.”

I listen to his words carefully. “So, you’re trying to be my knight in shining armor?”

He shakes his head. “No, that bullshit is for fairy tales.” He pauses for a long, thoughtful moment, but then something comes over his face, a shadow of who he is. A tremor travels up my spine before eventually turning into hope. He takes a step closer to me, his hand reaching up and stroking my cheek tenderly. “I’m the motherfucker who kills the man that turned your dreams into nightmares.”