"Apology"
Things began to settle down into a new, numb, normal. I just slid through one day to the next, fumbling blindly. I didn't care about anything anymore. Well that's not exactly true. I cared about the stick. I cared about my nightmares. I cared about the pot or vodka that helped me suffer through my existence. That was about it. Mom, she didn't see a thing. All she saw was her own shitty life and getting what she wanted out of it. Which surprisingly, for whatever reasons I fully admit I was too selfish to care about, meant she was actually trying for once at work. All I noticed were two things, how I never had to hunt anymore for some vodka, and how she was gone most nights, at least until late. She was working 2nd shift somewhere and holding it down. That was fine by me, except it left me alone with Teddy more.
For the first week, we'd mostly avoided each other. He'd barely spoken to me outside of a grunt since he'd saved me in the shower. It was like he hated to even be around me and to be fair, I hadn't sought him out either. I hadn't even thanked him for what he had done yet. Probably because I didn't know if there was anything to thank him for. Should I be happy I was alive or angry at my continued existence? That was a question I wasn't prepared to deal with head on.
One night about a week after my suicide attempt however, he came into my room. I was in an oversized tshirt, stoned out of my gourd, with Netflix playing some cartoon on in the background. He opened the door, frowned at me, then walked on in. Out of it as I was, I sat up nervously. Only now was my face recovering from the black eye he'd given me. He seemed to hesitate as I sat up, then continued on beside my bed and sat down on the edge of it. He refused to stare at me and instead focused on his hands, fumbling with them for a moment before he finally spoke up.
"Did...did you do it because of me?" he asked. The words didn't come easily from him. It seemed like he fought for each one. Or maybe I was just too stoned. I basically sat there, trying to understand what he meant.
"Wha....What?" I barely stammered out. His eyes flashed at me, as he angrily grabbed the joint from my hand and tossed it aside.
"Did you try to kill yourself because we fucked?"
At that, I almost laughed. His eyes narrowed as I started to though and I realized how serious he was. He didn't know, he didn't understand. What was I supposed to say to him? Yes you're fully responsible? No, you weren't. The truth was he was and wasn't and everything in between. Fuck, the rape or the sex or whatever we'd done was among the least important things that had led to it. Everything else though, that hadn't exactly helped.
"That? No. It's been. Was. Everything was piling up. And I broke..." I wanted to explain. But the words I needed weren't there for me. I leaned forward a bit towards him and he took my hand. It was warm and easily covered mine. He honestly looked sad to me, as he rubbed my hand lightly.
"I'm sorry if I made things worse," Teddy said softly. I barely heard the words as he spoke them. I knew I liked the feel of his hands on mine. He was so close to me. He was apologizing to me. He cared. That was the only thought running through my mind as I clung to him. Pressed my face against his chest. He seemed startled by my response but I would learn what startled actually was in a moment. Myself, I pressed myself tighter against him, felt the warmth of his body. He cared. I slide my head from his chest to his face and kissed him. There was a wonderful pause, where my heart fluttered there. A spark that tried to burn. Then reality crashed in a tidal wave to snuff it out. As suddenly, I felt myself being shoved violently away. My back and head bounced of the headboard and I whimper, confused.
"What the fuck is wrong with you? I try to...fuck and you...." he stammered, his body shaking with rage. He was grabbing my hair and just screaming at me, punching my sides, my back, the room went dizzy as one blow nailed the back of my head. He was just wailing on me as I quivered in pain. And suddenly, as fast as it had started, it stopped. I was shaking hard, my head and back was throbbing, everything was spinning so fast I threw up a bit in my mouth. I looked up and I saw Teddy, his fist pulled back. I knew he wanted to hit me. Part of me wanted him to hit me. He was right. I was fucked up. I also wanted to kiss him but there was none of that in him. He was shaking in fury. He was full of disgust. He finally pulled away and rushed out of the room.
"Just stay the fuck away from me you crazy piece of shit," he spat out as my door was slammed shut. I sat there, hurting, trembling, and shoved my face into my pillow and just screamed. I shuddered as I punched at my bed, and slapped at the side of my head. I cried for the first time since my attempt and grabbed my dresser and pulled out the drawer in one jerk as it crashed to the floor. I didn't care. I grabbed the stick and just jabbed it in my cunt as I cried, so much pouring out. Every time I thought I was empty, I learned I could drop a bit more. I moaned, mostly in pain, as I fucked myself with it. I hadn't lubed myself and though I was wet for some reason, I wasn't nearly wet enough. It didn't matter though. I just needed to feel. And despite everything, the pain and everything did feel good. It wasn't long before I was twitching on the stick and cumming hard. I still hadn't fully put two and two together, instead operating more on instinct than anything else. It was good enough though as I lay there, my pussy aching and raw as the crygasm ripped through me. I couldn't figure out my place, where I fit in anymore. I just twitched, panting hard, unaware of the new best friend I would be making soon. So I just let go, and cried myself to sleep.
