Zach stood and his expression softened, as if a hint of my brother had returned. Or maybe he was sobering up, now that the frenzy had passed. Now that he’d emptied his cum and his rage into me. I tried not to glance at the knife again, and prayed he’d leave it behind.

“Be right back.” He grabbed it and left the room, taking my hope with him. My heartbeat thudded as his quiet steps receded down the hall. Desperation corrupted my soul, and the overwhelming need to end this possessed me.

Do it now. Before he comes back.

I sprinted to the bathroom, shut and locked the door, then searched the cabinets and drawers for a razor. Empty. Empty, empty, empty! He’d shaved my legs days ago. Where were the razors? I found nothing, save for a lone Q-tip. I flung it to the floor in disgust then scoured the tiny space for something to break the mirror with, my whole body shaking. Finding nothing, I settled for pounding my fist on the glass, wincing against the pain, though it didn’t compare to what Zach had put me through.

What he’ll put you through if you don’t succeed.

A piece broke free, and I clutched it in my bloodied hand. I birthed an unknown creature inside me, one who thirsted for my death. That creature whispered in my ear and told me to turn on the faucet in the tub. Told me to ignore the panic squeezing my chest as the water splashed into the bottom. I stepped over the side, placing one trembling foot inside, before lifting the other over the rim.

Zach banged on the door, words I couldn’t make out screeching through the wood. I couldn’t hear him above the roar in my head—the scream that told me to sink into the depths of my phobia and let it dispose of me. My back slammed against the cold porcelain, and as the door shook under his weight, I took the piece of mirror and gouged it into my left arm, dragging the sharp edge up my forearm to my wrist.

Just like Mom.

I wept, chest heaving uncontrollably, and a tremor of remorse went through me, but it was fleeting. I took the glass, held awkwardly in my left hand, and tore into the opposite wrist. Blood bathed my skin, hiding the faint scars from years of silently screaming.

Free. Finally free.

The glass fell from my fingers. I slumped into the tub, arms plopping into rising water, and closed my eyes as my head dropped against the rim. I wondered if Mom had felt this way. Had she experienced this same clarifying sense of relief? The certainty that the suffering would end soon. I couldn’t wait to see her. I ached to feel her arms around me, craved the sweet scent I still remembered, even to this day. Jasmine. God, I could already smell it.