The rug is small. I curl my body into a ball so as not to touch the cold tile. I'm naked and the night is cool up here in the mountains. I want to throw up but I can't.
All I'm think of is "I'm a piece of shit. I'm a piece of shit."
It's dark but the stars outside shed light on my back. The rug smells musty from being damp. No matter how much I sweep there's always dog hair on the floor. My hair needs to be brushed.
I don't like anyone holding my hair or rubbing my back when I need to puke. I don't even like to think of puke. I try concentrating really hard so I don't puke.
I'm pretty sure he's still on the other side of the door because I didn't hear him walk away. Why does he stay so close when I'm a piece of shit?
He never gets mad at me. I'm not sure why that is. Maybe he loves me or maybe he just doesn't care.
My hands are crossed on my belly to keep it from lurching. My nose is tilted up towards the ceiling fan that we disconnected so we could turn on the light without that loud twirling, humming sound.
I need air.
I wish the window above the tub was open, but I keep it closed liking to steam up the bathroom with hot water. I want to stretch out one leg out onto the floor so the cold will sober me up but I'm afraid to move because then I might throw up. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears or is that my pulse or my life force?
I'm a piece of shit.
Why doesn't he believe me when I tell him that?
He just says I love you, or you're scaring me, or holds me tighter.
I don't deserve him. I know.
I don't deserve his kindness or understanding or cheek turning or unconditional whatever.
I deserve a cold tiled floor and moldy carpet and sick belly and throbbing head.
I stretch out my leg.
I deserve what I get.