Shame. Resignation.

Hollowness. Nausea.

They all converged into a cyclonic storm that blasted through the hastily erected wall I used to make it home. I clasped my spinning head in my hands and dragged my fingers through my hair. The sharp tugs on the matted snarls pulled me out of the destructive spiral waiting to suck me down.

Come on, Cyn. Hold it together.

Forcing my feet to move, I headed to the kitchen. I needed something to drink. My mouth was dry, my stomach pitching. By rote, I grabbed a glass, and

then stood there.

Water wasn’t going to cut it.

I opened the cupboard above the stove. A bottle of whiskey with a few

inches left stared back. Jameson in hand, I considered the glass I held, then the

bottle. Screw it.

I left the glass on the counter and brought the bottle to my mouth. The whiskey burned its way down my throat and eventually chased away the chill.

Finally, my teeth stopped rattling against the glass edge. I lowered the bottle and

held it in both hands and sucked in deep breaths. I swiped the back of my hand

over my sore lips and took another drink. I needed a shower. Then, maybe I could deal with…I let the thought trail off, too scared to follow it through.

Shower, first. Then assess the damage.

Unwilling to give up my alcoholic teddy bear, I took it with me to the guest

room. The curtains were still drawn, keeping the sunlight out. I moved across the

floor to the bathroom. I didn’t bother with the light switch. Still holding the bottle, I turned the shower as hot as it could go with one hand. For a moment I

considered setting the whiskey on the counter, but my fingers wouldn’t loosen.

Stripping one-handed was not graceful or quick. I got my T-shirt off and more signs that things had gotten real fucking ugly at some point were revealed.

Bruises in various shades of green, blue, and purple decorated my ribs and stomach. Some wound around to my back. Most were clustered in mid-body and

the tight band around my chest loosened a notch.

I took another drink and shucked my pants. An ugly bruise covered my left

thigh, a visible explanation for my re-emerging limp. The only other damage was my skinned knees. Finally naked, I kicked my grungy clothes into the corner, and went to take one last fortifying drink, but came up empty. I set the now empty bottle on the counter’s edge and stepped into the steamy enclosure.

Between the heat and the alcohol, my head was encased in fluffiness. I tried to

enjoy it, but the moment you try to become numb, you stop.

I stood there as hot water sluiced over me, my back to the spray, arms braced

on the wall in front of me, and my head hanging down. At my feet swirled a murky combination of water, blood, and dirt. Stings made themselves known as

the hot water hit the numerous scrapes. I groaned softly as tense muscles slowly

uncurled. I tilted my head back, letting the water wash over my hair and face.

Now there was no way to tell what was water and what was tears.

The urge to get clean began to crowd out all the rest of my physical

complaints. I grabbed my soap and washed every possible inch. Then it was rinse and repeat, then repeated again. Finally, my legs folded, and I slowly slid

down the smooth tile wall, until I was a huddled ball of misery. With nothing left

to distract me, the deluge of fragmented images, the babel of half understood voices, and the shitstorm of emotional upheaval crowded in and set up shop.

Exhausted beyond measure, I couldn’t fight back, so all that was left was to endure.

As the storm raged around me, time passed without meaning, but like any

other storm, it finally waned. Deep inside my psyche, I was hunkered behind the

strongest mental wall I could manage. The taunting whispers began to taper off,

and the images stopped striking like wind-tossed missiles. Quiet replaced the mental noise. Either I was in the eye of the storm, or it had finally, blessedly passed.

Not wanting to chance reawakening it, I kept my mental barriers up, and

started to poke at what I could remember. The blank spots hurt, so I didn’t push

too hard. Not yet. I ranged further back, where the pain wasn’t, until I finally found the last thing I could remember that didn’t make me want to pass out.

Ramirez’s snarling face. Kayden’s voice yelling in my ear.

A violent shiver snapped my mind back to the present where cold water

washed over me. I swiped my eyes clear and uncurled from my huddle. It took teeth-gritting effort to get up, turn off the shower, and wrap my trembling body

in a towel. My limbs were numb with cold, but I didn’t waste time getting dressed. Instead, I snagged a throw from my chair, and wrapped it around me.

Then I crawled into bed, pulled the comfort to my shoulders, and curled against

the headboard.

Only then did I begin to work my way through the maze of my mind. But no