At the bottom of everything.

When I was a kid I used to draw shapes in the condensation on the mirror. Mama used to hold me in a towel and drying me while I struggled over the sink to scribble in the moisture. She would tell me continually to sit still, but she never got angry, often she even joined in.

As I got older I used to leave messages on the mirror. Mama still didn’t scold. Jessie joined in and left little replies to my messages; they used to be the highlight of my evenings.

Every time I stepped out of the shower in castle Bam, I couldn’t help but think of them. What would they leave me now? What note would I read in the mirror? I dread to think.

When I took a shower, I aimed to take the longest I possibly could. At the start Bam complained that I spent more time in the bathroom than any of his previous lovers but he soon became accustomed to the idea and left me to my own devices. For Bam a shower was a quick scrub under the arms and around the ‘parts’ and he was done but I was different; I took squeaky clean seriously.

I sat upon the toilet lid on this particular day, the towel wrapped around my waste and a cigarette in my mouth. My hair was wringing wet and the window behind me was open. A chill swept across my body, a shiver ran up and down my spine and I trembled. This was shit. I felt like utter shit.

For the first time since my teenage angst years I felt like really doing myself damage. None of this drinking myself stupid mumbo jumbo; actually slicing myself open with a knife. I already had faint white scars upon my arms, legs and stomach front previous self injurious activities and, as sat there smoking my cancer stick, I longed for the ache of the blade. As far as I can remember it had always helped in some why in my teen years, fair dues it was often only slightly but it still helped.

I had the love of my life and I had lost my family. I had my best friends but I had lost my country. Pro’s and con’s played against each other in my mind until the war became too great. I growled in frustration, put out my cigarette on the window sill and threw it out into the yard.

“Fuck sake.” I paced the small, tiled room and pounded the heels of my hands against my temples, “Ville Ville fucking Ville. Fucking idiot.” I mumbled again and again.

I felt crazy, talking and attacking myself. If Bam could see me now would he really still love me? Would he want to be seen with me? I doubt it.

****

I slipped into my new shirt, a pair of old torn pants and stole a set of Bam’s novelty South Park socks. Quite frankly I was too exhausted to even care about the state of my hair or the stubble on my chin.
Besides, I could already smell the coffee brewing down in the kitchen.

“The shirt looks good.” Bam smiled at me over a large boil of frosted flakes.

“Thanks.” I aimed straight for the coffee pot, grabbing a mug on my travels and poured a gracious amount into its depth. Admittedly, I worship the caffeine Gods, “No one is around today?”

Bam shook his head, a mouth full of flakes in his mouth and a slice of toast in his hand; he looked almost comic. Quickly he swallowed and followed the cereal with a swing of coffee before starting on the toast.
I laughed, “Sometimes, love, you’re repulsive.”

For a while we sat a talked like this, like nothing had happened and I was grateful for that. But my torment always lay dormant at the back of my mind. Call me dramatic, call me whatever you want, but if you’ve ever been abandoned by your family because of who you are, you’d maybe understand. Bam tried, bless him he did, but it just wasn’t working. His eyes gave it away. They searched my own, watching me continually and his ears pricked at everything I said. He was trying to suss out my hiding place but was failing miserably.

“When are we actually going to talk about this?” he asked.

He nervously stroked his thumbs along the length of his mug. I dropped my eyes to look at the wooden texture of the table and began to pick at the edges of my finger nails.

“Can we not?” I whispered, “I-“

“You don’t think I’ll understand? You don’t want to talk to me?” Bam mumbled.

“No. That’s not it. I – I just can’t okay.” My voice broke and I could feel tears forming in my eyes, “They are, were, my family and to be hated by them because of who I am and who I love, It – well – it fucking tears me apart inside.”

I couldn’t take it anymore and I certainly didn’t want Bam to see me crying again so I stood up abruptly and left the room. Yes it was rude but I would rather keep some dignity. It was the sound of his shuffling feet and the hard yank on my elbow that made me stop.

“Please Willa, I can’t bare to see you like this dude. You think you’re the only one suffering this? Well you’re not. I feel fucking terrible and God I wish I could help but I can’t and that just breaks me. Just don’t do this to yourself, don’t hide from me.”

“Bambam I just can’t find it in myself to talk this out. Not yet.”

“Soon?”

I sighed and turned away from him once again. My heart pounded in my chest and the vibrations shook my ribs. Nothing felt right, this didn’t feel right and yet it was more right than wrong. My pros and cons spun around in my head once again.

“Yes. Soon.”

Sometimes you just had to chose you sides.