I forgot all about my initial plans
to tell somebody straight away. I just ran to my room and collapses onto my
bed, sobbing convulsively, the fear, pain and hopelessness I had felt finally
caught up with me.
I stepped into my en suite bathroom,
turning on the shower. I was covered in blood, my hair matted with it. I needed
to wash it off, so that maybe I could wash the fear off as well.
The floor of the shower was dyed slightly
pinkish by the residue that the blood had left behind. I scrubbed at it with a
sponge before getting out. I didn’t want anything reminding me of the injuries
that I had obtained in the attic.
But I had to tell somebody.
I dressed in clean clothes, shoving
the crumpled, blood-stained ones into the bottom of the laundry basket, so that
I wouldn’t have to look at them.
Walking downstairs, I was so nervous
that it felt like I was confronting the angels all over again. What if they
didn’t believe me? They would continue to make me walk up to the attic to get
things, I would return without those things, and be yelled at and not believed.
I felt so hopeless