When Cyn woke up, she had no idea how she’d gotten home from the bar and why she was lying on top of the sleeping bag instead of in it. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, but the room was freezing. She flipped the switch for the heater, and it started making a ticking sound. She didn’t know how much longer it would last, but the front coils slowly began to turn orange.
Her mouth tasted terrible, and she grabbed a second pair of socks before padding into the bathroom. The tap wasn’t usable, but she kept a bottle of water by the sink to brush her teeth. A small mirror hung on the wall, and she glanced at it as she passed by.
That face was there beneath hers again.
Cyn gripped the edges of the sink. “Go away,” she said. “I don’t want you here. This is my body, and you can’t have it!”
But that smug bastard used her own face against her—the blackened teeth projected like a ghostly image beneath her skin and split into a parody of a smile. She felt that sudden pull of darkness begin to wash over her, and she gripped the sink even harder. “No!”
Cyn fought him with everything she had. She didn’t want to black out and wake up to find herself on the edge of a cliff again.
Or surrounded by someone else’s blood.
Her head felt like it was splitting open, and she screamed at the intensity. The edges of her vision started to blur, and a feeling like cotton balls being wedged inside her ears made every sound go mute. Her grip loosened, and then she was gone.
~ ~ ~
The darkness was all wrong in the room when she opened her eyes. It felt more like early morning than late evening. But the alarm hadn’t gone off. Cyn remembered that she wasn’t scheduled to work tonight, though, so it wasn’t like she was missing her shift if she’d overslept.
Groping for the clock next to her bed, Cyn’s fingers bumped the edge of something hard. And cold.
Come to think of it, she was lying on something hard and cold.
There was an odd smell around her. Like old metal. And what should have been the warm fleece lining of a sleeping bag beneath her fingertips was instead cracked tile. She opened her eyes all the way and saw streaks of dried blood in front of her.
Oh God. Oh my God. Did it happen again? Where am I? Who did I hurt this time?
Slowly, recognition dawned, and she realized that she was lying in the single-stall bathroom of her building. A permanently stained sink and a dirty toilet were the only fixtures, along with a faded black and white tiled floor.
Raising shaking hands to touch her face, Cyn held a jagged piece of tile in her left palm. She dropped it, and it bounced on the floor before coming to a stop.
Glancing down at her arms, Cyn saw right away where the blood had come from. Clotted streaks and crude gashes made a macabre road map of connect-the-dots up and down the translucent veins that pulsed beneath her skin. Dried blood covered the wall and the base of the sink she was lying in front of.
Apparently, in her sleep she’d somehow managed to come into the bathroom, pry up a piece of loose floor tile, and use its rough edge to try to slit her wrists.
“No, no, no, no, no . . .” Hysteria bubbled up, and all she could see in her mind was the blood all over Hunter. “This can’t happen again!”
Cyn got to her feet, and the room dipped sideways. She was light headed. But she couldn’t tell if that was due to blood loss or because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had something to eat.
She turned on the faucet, and it spewed dark and dirty water. She didn’t like the idea of washing up with it, but she didn’t have any choice. There wasn’t enough bottled water left.
Gingerly wiping the open edges of the cuts with a wad of tissue, Cyn used as little of the dirty water as she could. Wincing at the sight more than the pain, she dried her arms and took in her injuries. There were so many of them. Mostly shallow cuts. Although two were deep enough to be worried about.
Even though her next shift at the diner wasn’t until tomorrow night, Cyn knew she couldn’t wait that long. She needed a first-aid kit and some bandages. Remembering that she’d left her coat at work too—another reason to go there—Cyn slowly eased her way over to her suitcase to grab a sweater and headed out.
~ ~ ~
Cyn walked to the diner, battling her thoughts every step of the way.
You deserved this, you know. Something inside you is trying to see that you are punished. Which is only fair. You killed your boyfriend in his sleep.
She put both hands over her ears as if to block out her thoughts, but it didn’t work. They just kept coming.
His poor family. They’ll never know what happened. How could you just leave him there like that? And you claim you loved him?
Maybe it was time to run again. With the cop here now, and the blackouts starting again. Maybe it was time to just get out. A couple more days of working at the diner, and then she would take her money and leave this town behind.
God, I hope I can last that long.
The kitchen was empty as Cyn snuck in the back door, and she pocketed a pack of Lenny’s cigarettes left out on the prep table. “Sorry, big guy,” she said to the empty room. “But I need these more than you do right now. I’ll get you another pack. I swear.”
The first-aid kit was in the employee bathroom, and she made sure to lock the door behind her before carefully rolling up her sleeves. She didn’t see the tube of ointment that was supposed to prevent scar tissue until she’d already bandaged half a dozen of the cuts. That’s okay. Maybe I deserve a couple of scars.
Cyn washed her hands and looked into the mirror. An uneasiness still hung about her. She could see it in the haunted look in her eyes. “I’m not going to let you win, you bastard,” she whispered to her reflection. “You hear me? Whoever you are in there, I’m not going to let you win.”
She didn’t realize then that it was already too late.