Page 217 - It Ends with Us

“I’ll show you your room,” he says. “There’ s a sho wer if you need

it.”
I do . I wan t to was h the tas te of scotch out of my mouth. I wan t to was h the
sterile smell of the ho spital of f of me. I wan t to was h aw ay the las t four ho urs of
my life.
I follow hi m down the ha llway and to a spare bed room where he
flips on the light . There are two boxes on a bare bed and more

stacked up agains t the walls. There’ s an overs ized cha ir agains t one
wall, facing the door. He moves to the bed and takes off the boxes ,
set ting them agains t the wall with the others .
“I just moved in a few mont hs ago. Haven’t ha d much time to
dec orate yet .” He walks to a dres ser and pulls open a drawer. “I’ll
make the bed for you.” He takes out sheet s and a pillowcase. He
beg ins making the bed as I walk ins ide the bathro om and close the

door.
I remain in the bathro om for thi rty minu tes . Some of tho se
minu tes are spent staring at my refl ec tion in the mirro r. Some of
tho se minu tes are spent in the sho wer. The res t are spent over the
toilet as I make mysel f sick with tho ught s of the last sev era l ho urs.
I’m wrapped in a towel when I crack the bathro om door. Atlas is no

long er in the bed room, but there are clothes folded on the fres hl y
made bed . Men’s pajama bottoms tha t are too big for me and a T-shi rt
tha t goes past my knees . I pull the drawstring tight , tie it, and then
crawl into bed . I turn the lamp off and pull the covers up and over
me.
I cry so ha rd, I don’t ev en make a no ise.