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“Nothing,” I said. “I’m going to bed.”
I left the kitchen, brushing past her as I did so. I knew she’d hate that I hadn’t risen to her jibes. I felt I’d won that round, but I couldn’t imagine a time when she and I would ever be friends. She’d never forgive me for what I’d done.
I had a hole inside of me, this great, gaping wound that would never heal. I felt nauseated all the time, like I wanted to peel off my own skin and scrub away at the filth inside. I wanted to escape myself and run away, but at the same time I wanted to sink deeper and deeper into my self-loathing in order to punish myself. I didn’t deserve Nickie’s forgiveness, not that I would ever ask for it. I’d never forgive myself. It was like being stuck in the middle of a nightmare and knowing I’d never wake up.
A big part of me wished I didn’t have to worry about her. My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn’t have to take care of my sister as well. I could be as hedonistic as I wanted, drinking myself into unconsciousness every night, getting into fights if the urge took me, sleeping with unsuitable men. My time on this planet was already numbered, and as soon as I had done what needed to be done, I wouldn’t have any other reason to be here.
But I had Nickie.
I always told myself I didn’t give a shit about anything. I guessed she was the exception.
I took a quick shower to cleanse off the stench of the bar and booze from my skin, before slipping beneath the sheets. But the memory of feeling like someone had been watching me clung to me like an aura, and I kept my knife close by, within fingers’ reach, just in case.
