Blue Rose (A Flowering Novel) by Daltry Sarah

Author:Daltry, Sarah [Daltry, Sarah]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2014-01-25T00:00:00+00:00

21

I decide to cancel my appointment with Melinda this week, because I need a break. I’m sure she doesn’t mind, after listening to me for nearly twice the allotted time last week, but I feel bad because I know it’s avoidance. I need to face the one thing I’m not ready to face, and so I pretend to be sick. It’s easier than telling the truth; the truth has always been a tricky subject for me.

Instead of therapy, I go to the bar. As always, it’s sad. Midday, midweek, a bunch of lonely men. Of course, that’s exactly the point, and I made sure to wear a really short skirt and a tight sweater. They all look at me when I walk in. I came in here thinking that I would hook up with someone, that I would do something stupid to forget, but as soon as the two guys playing pool stop what they’re doing and I feel their eyes running over my body, I want to be sick.

“Excuse me,” I mumble and I run to the bathroom. I don’t even get the stall door closed before I’m bent over the toilet, puking up the little food I’ve been eating lately. I don’t know what happened, but all of this therapy, all of this dealing with my past, it’s eating away at me.

I slump back against the wall and the tears come without warning. It’s just this. My entire life is this. Me, dressed like a whore, crumpled in a bathroom stall and wishing I was someone else. I could go back out there and pick up a guy. I could head to the motel and someone would make me feel like he cared for me for a few minutes, maybe even a few hours if I let him, but really, all he cares for is my body. My mind is of no value to anyone.

“Fuck,” I cry, but no one hears me. No one ever hears.

I’m smart. Somewhere in the background of the shit life I lead, I am actually intelligent. I excelled at school, but mostly because homework was the only time I could do something that didn’t involve a guy touching me. It was also the only way I could be close to people who understood, to Jack and Dave, who might have been guys but who never saw me the same way. I wish I knew what they saw, what I am to them, because I don’t know why only they can see it. I don’t know why no one notices anything else about me. I didn’t ask to be pretty. I didn’t ask for this body. When I’ve tried to express that to people, even to therapists, I get called shallow or spoiled, as if I’ve been blessed with a gift and how dare I ruin it. Sometimes I wish I had cut myself across the face, so that the scars would make me as ugly as I feel.

There’s a knock on the door, and I manage to stand.

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