Author: Cheryl McIntyre

I pick up the sandwich and his eyes absorb my movement with bright anticipation. “I didn’t ask you to make me a sandwich and I didn’t ask you to sit somewhere else at lunch.” I drop it on top of the still-life he’s working on. “Just like I didn’t ask you to man handle me in my bedroom.”

He clenches his jaw like he’s pissed off, but he’s staring at me like I kicked his puppy. “I don’t know how to make you believe I’m sorry. I fucked up. I made a huge mistake. Again. I know that, but I also know there is way more to what happened than you’re telling. I was freaked out and I wasn’t thinking clearly, but I would never purposely hurt you, Hope. Ever. I didn’t even kiss you until you asked me to. I would never…” He trails off and shakes his head. Hurt etching his features, he leaves his work, with the sandwich still on it, and says something to the teacher before walking out.

Sometimes watching someone walk away from you sucks pretty badly.

“What? No Mason today?” I ask Guy sarcastically when he tromps through the front door.

He pauses, tossing his books on the counter. “No. He just dropped me off. He didn’t feel comfortable coming in.” He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and kicks the door shut with his foot. “Besides, we need to have a talk. Don’t you think?”

“No,” I say immediately. We stare at one another, neither of us willing to give in. I hear the bus pull up out front and when the door opens, I try to use the distraction to sneak up to my room.

Guy’s on my heels, stopping my door from closing in his face. “You aren’t the only one who gets to be mad.”

I feel my eyebrows scrunch in annoyance. “What do you have to be mad about? You didn’t have your best friend stand there and do nothing while you were mulled.”

He rolls his eyes. “You were not mulled, first of all. And second of all, you’ve been marring yourself for who knows how long and hiding it from me. How is there even a question as to why I’d be mad?”

I don’t respond, mostly because I’m shocked and don’t know what to say. In retrospect, it makes sense. Of course he’d be pissed that I’ve been keeping secrets from him and even more pissed that I’m cutting. But I’m still pissed too, and I’m selfish, so my anger trumps his.

“I waited all weekend for you to talk to me. Then I waited all week. You had no intentions of explaining anything to me. Did you?”

I say nothing.

“I looked some stuff up about self-injury. You’re not doing it for fun.” He lowers himself to my bed and rests his elbows on his knees. His blonde hair falls across his face as he stares at the floor.

“I know why you do it. What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t trust me with it.”

“You would have tried to stop me,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with emotion.

He lifts his head and regards me sadly. “Of course I would have tried to stop you, but I would’ve helped you, too.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be stopped. Maybe I don’t want help.”

He winces. “Maybe not yet, but you can’t do this forever.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek because just the thought of never doing it again scares the shit out of me. Guy knows me too well. “It might be scary now, but there will come a day that you’ll be ready to quit. You’ll need help. From what I read, it’s pretty hard to do on your own.”

“Don’t act like you understand just because you spent twenty minutes on Wikipedia,” I say coolly.

“I’ve spent hours, daily, on multiple sites. There’s this one where you can talk to other people that cut. People that went through something similar to you.”

I don’t want him bringing that up. “I’m not going to do some group therapy online chat.”

“You don’t have to. I didn’t…I didn’t say you had to do it. I just want you to know it’s an option. There’s help, too. Counseling. Specialists. And I’ll be there for you.”

“I’m not ready.”

“That’s okay,” he says carefully. “When you are ready. But you can’t do it anymore.”

“You can’t stop me,” I say defiantly because the way his voice quivered makes me want to cry.

“I’m not trying to fight with you, Hope. I’m trying to help. What would you do if it were me?”

I don’t know. I can’t even imagine. “I’d sit beside you and do it with you.”

Guy narrows his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go.” He stands up and I take a step back.

“What?”

“Show me how it’s done. I’ll cut with you and you can watch me.” He motions at me to hurry up.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“If it’s the only way to get through to you, I’ll do it. Maybe if you see me slicing into my flesh something will click up here.” He points to his temple. “Maybe if you see the scars that are left on my legs it will make you as sick as it makes me.”

“I’m sorry you’re so disgusted by me. Maybe you shouldn’t have looked when Mason took it upon himself to hold me down and show off my repulsive disfigurement.”

He shakes his head. “Get over yourself. I meant I’ve been sick with worry over you. What would happen if you went too deep or it got infected? I don’t want to lose you.”

I close my eyes. “You aren’t going to lose me.”

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly, voice cracking.

“You can’t promise me I’ll never lose you, either. Anything could happen.”

“Yeah, but I’m not walking around looking for ways to end my life.”

“Neither am I,” I shout. “I know it’s fucked up to cut myself. I realize there are risks, too. I’m always careful. It’s not like I do it every day and I am not trying to kill myself.” I take a deep breath and lower my voice. “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t done it since Mason stole my razors.”

“It does, actually.” He sweeps his hands over his face. “Can you at least try to come to me first from now on? Talk to me before you hurt yourself?”

“No. I won’t promise that.” I move toward him. “Look, I do come to you sometimes, but there are times when you can’t help.”

His face pales. I know what he heard was me telling him he’s not enough.

“Then promise me you’ll at least look at the website I found.” He hurries on before I can respond. “You don’t have to do anything. Just look at it.” Tears make his eyes shine and I can’t breathe. “Just give me something, Hope, because I feel like I’m drowning. Pretend roles are reversed and you know I’m hurting myself. What would you want me to do?”

“I’ll look at the site,” I promise.

“I’ll take what I can get.”

“You aren’t going to tell anyone, are you?” I have to ask. I trusted Park and that didn’t work out so well.

He stares at me, an unsatisfied expression on his face. “I can’t promise you that anymore than you can promise me you’ll stop cutting.” He tugs on my hand, pulling me into a hug. “I won’t say anything unless I feel like I have to.”

I nod against his chest. “I’ll take what I can get,” I mimic him.

“Don’t keep shit from me anymore.”

I nod again.

“I love you, craziness and all.”

I huff out a surprised laugh. “Love you too. Pushiness and all.”

He releases me and steps back. “You should talk to Mason.”

“One step at a time, dude.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “He’s a good person. And he cares about you. The dude has been seriously mopey since you’ve stopped talking to him. Just think about it.”

“Are you talking to Park?”

Guy clears his throat. “Uh, no.” I arch a brow. “He’s supposed to be my best friend and he didn’t tell me what you were doing. That’s fucked up on a whole different level.”

I don’t say anything else because I’m not going to try to talk Guy into forgiving Park. That’s his business and I’m still mad as hell at Park anyway. But I want him to realize he shouldn’t be telling me to do something he isn’t willing to do.

“I will though. Once he suffers long enough to know not to pull that shit again.”

I smirk, liking the sound of that. “That’s exactly what I’m doing with Mason.”

Chapter 21

Mason

I stayed away from Hope’s house all weekend and it freaking sucked. I spent my time lying around watching made-for-TV movies with Mom and playing video games with Kellin. Mom was ecstatic yesterday when she got the whole day with us. I was miserable, not that I don’t like hanging out with her, but there is only so much Lifetime a guy can take. And I just missed Hope.

She has been on my mind way more than is considered healthy. I text Guy probably fifty times to check on her. He was cool about it, but I’m expecting harassment charges to be pressed any moment.

When I get to school I automatically look for her car. It’s habit now. And though I know she isn’t going to acknowledge me, I wait by the doors for her. It’s fucking pathetic, standing there like a dog, hoping she’ll throw me a bone and look in my direction.

I do it anyways.

Today I’m trying something new. I’ve given her space. I’ve even kept my mouth shut for the most part. That didn’t work.

I don’t hide it as I watch her walk up the steps toward me. Her eyes meet mine and I hold them, putting everything I’m thinking into that gaze. At least I hope that’s what I’m doing. I hope I don’t look like some creepy, psycho, stalker.

Her cheeks turn pink and she drops her eyes. I chuckle lowly as she passes. Yeah, I think I may have played that right.

*******

In Biology I place the daily denied candy on her table. Usually I sit down and mind my own business. This time I wait until she looks up at me and then I smile at her.

“Hey, Hope,” I say softly.

“Hi, Mason.”

I didn’t expect that and it throws me off. “Did you just talk to me?” I know I sound shocked, but…I am.

She laughs quietly. “Yeah. I said hi.”

“Hi.” Hi? I need my ass kicked. Talk to her, dumbass. I sit down and turn sideways in my seat. “How are you?”

“Better. I had a good weekend.”

What does that mean? I’m glad she had a good weekend, but is it because I left her alone? Are she and Park back together? “What’d you do?” I ask. God, I sound like a douche bag.

She laughs again and my stomach tightens in response. “Not much. Watched TV, played Candy Land like forty-four times.”

“Even your games involve candy?”

She smiles, but doesn’t answer because Mr. Roberts starts class. I’m happy as hell the rest of class until she slips out as soon as the bell rings. The candy I brought her still sitting on the table.

When I get to lunch I sit with my locker groupies. They’re more than happy to oblige since I’m not blowing them off for once. I’m barely listening to them as I watch the doors.

Hope never shows and by the time I get to Art, I’m a little irritated. How long is she going to make me suffer? Can’t she kick me in the balls and forgive me. I think I’ll suggest it to her.

Note to self: Never piss Hope off again.

“You can come back to the lunchroom,” I start as soon as I sit down. “I moved tables.”

She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and the fine strands slip right back into her face. I fist my hand in order to restrain myself from fixing it. “I told you not to worry about moving. I’m not avoiding the cafeteria just because of you.” Her eyes flick over my face and settle on my mouth. I swallow with difficulty as she licks her lips. She’s trying to kill me.