Author: Cheryl McIntyre

I stand in the hall outside my room. The need to cut is suffocating. Mason took my razors. I have to keep reminding myself of that. I step inside and look around, searching for something that might work. The curling iron is sitting on the desk. I run my fingers over it. It’s cold, smooth. I flip the button. My eyes blur as I stare at the orange light indicating it’s on.

Another accident. I can’t wrap my mind around it. This can’t really be happening.

There are some papers scattered across the desk and I straighten them slowly, making sure each sheet is aligned perfectly with the one below it. It’s lyrics. Stupid lyrics.

They have to be all right. They can’t die on me. Life cannot be that incredibly cruel.

I can’t lose them.

I can’t lose them.

I can’t lose them.

I don’t know how much time has passed, but when I pick up the curling iron I can feel the heat coming off of it. A calm comes over me as I bring it to my wrist. There’s a split second where I hesitate, where I actually try to think past the fear shaking my body. I try, but I can’t. At some point, hurting myself has gone past the need to be in control. It’s routine now. An addiction. I cannot cope without it, and when things get bad, the need to feed the habit flares.

I press the iron into my skin. I cry out, hissing through my teeth. A gasp makes me jump, pulling it back sharply. My gaze flicks up. His green eyes are wide, his brow’s furrowed. There’s a mix of horrified revulsion and pure shock on his face.

I’m just as horrified with myself, with being caught. This is extremely personal. People may know I do it, but nobody has ever witnessed it. It’s worse than if he’d seen me naked.

“Kellin,” I breathe.

Chapter 37

Mason

I take the steps two at a time in my rush to get upstairs. Kellin’s standing in Hope’s doorway, his skin shockingly pale. The panic I felt when he screamed my name somehow doubles.

I don’t need to see the curling iron gripped tightly in Hope’s hand to figure out what happened. I don’t even need to see the red stripe across her wrist or the sickened expression on my brother’s face. I can smell the stench of burnt hair and flesh filling the air in her room. I heave the cord from the wall and pry it from her fingers.

“God, Hope.” I push Kellin out and close the door. Without another word, I drag her into the bathroom and turn on the cold water. As soon as it hits her arm she gasps for breath. Her chest rises and falls as if she’s fighting to get air.

I push her into the wall, trying to bring her back. I don’t know where she goes when she gets like this, but it’s not here with me.

Hope’s head bangs against a shelf and it’s like she doesn’t even feel it. My fingers dig into her arms with just enough pressure to get her attention. I want to scream at her, but I know that will only make it worse. “It will be okay,” I say fiercely. She looks at me, but I can tell she doesn’t believe it. “You have people that need you. You need to get your shit together.”

I slide my hands down her arms, grasping her wrists, holding up the one with the burn. “Look! Look what you did to yourself. You have to stop.”

She blinks, focusing on the blister already forming, white and puffy. “Did it make it better? Are you any less scared? Is anything better?”

“No,” she chokes. Her mouth opens like she wants to say more, but can’t manage to find the words.

I pull the first aid kit out, fighting the urge to punch the wall.

My little brother saw this. This is hard enough for me to deal with, let alone a kid. I quickly smear first aid cream onto the wound before wrapping it in gauze. “I know you’re worried, but you can’t do this anymore.” I pull her into my chest, choosing to hug her instead of shaking her like I really want to.

*******

I get home from Hope’s around noon. I’m only coming home long enough to shower and change my clothes. It’s been a long night, but as much as my body wants to crash, Hope needs me.

We didn’t get an update until close to four in the morning. Park was with Guy, just as Hope suspected. He scathed the accident with minor scrapes and only a broken nose, thanks to his seat belt and the airbag. After he was checked out, he was arrested for DWI. Guy wasn’t as lucky. Head injury. I didn’t understand most of it, swelling and bleeding on the brain, but he just came out of what the doctors insist was a successful surgery before I left. I refused to budge from Hope’s side until we knew he was in the recovery room. Alec promised she could go up to the hospital in a few hours. I talked her into a shower and hurried home. I don’t want to leave her alone for too long. It’s not that I don’t trust her, but—I don’t trust her to not hurt herself right now.

This is so messed up.

I am in way over my head. How do you make someone stop self-harming? I’m not sure you can. I want to, though. I want to force her to quit. She tried to explain it to me last night.

The house was quiet with everyone sprawled across the couch falling in and out of sleep. We snuck to the kitchen where Hope mixed dough for chocolate chip cookies. Apparently she needs to be doing something with her hands. It was too late for her to play the cello, and she couldn’t hurt herself with me right there, so she baked. I personally think it’s a much healthier stress reliever.

She bumped her bandaged wrist on the cabinet and tried to hide the tears that filled her eyes.

“Tell me what I can do,” I said. “I can’t stand to see you in pain. Tell me how to help you.”

“You are helping. I just need you here with me.”

“It’s not enough, obviously,” I hissed at her, eyeing her arm. “And I can’t always be here. Shit, Hope, I left for ten minutes and look what you did.” I jabbed my finger toward the bandage.

“I’ve gotten better. You don’t understand what it’s like. What goes on inside of me,” she whispered.

“Then explain it to me. Please.”

Shaking her head, she turned back to the bowl and mixed it furiously. Flour sifted over the side and onto her shirt. She closed her eyes and dropped the spoon. “It’s like telling an anorexic person to eat or an alcoholic not to drink. It’s an addiction and it’s a process to stop. Before tonight, I hadn’t done it since that night at your house. I’m so much better than I was.”

My stomach twisted painfully. This is better? “Alcoholics go to AA. How do we get you where you don’t do it at all?”

Hope turned quickly and placed her hands on her hips. “Don’t judge me, Mason. You’ve told me what you did to help deal with your dad’s death. Just because you do things in a different screwed up way doesn’t mean they’re any less screwed up.”

I recoiled at that. She’s right. I know she is. But it was still a low blow. She might as well have slapped me in the face. I don’t throw her mom in her face. And yes, I did try to fuck the pain away. It never worked. “I’m not judging you,” I sighed. “I’m worrying about you.”

Dropping her hands, she stepped into me, pressing her body against mine in apology. “This is a lot. Guy is…” She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, moisture forming on her lashes. “If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

I grabbed her hard, hugging her to me. I wanted to promise her he wouldn’t die, but I couldn’t go there. We’ve both seen how easy someone can be taken. So I just held onto her, skimming my fingers through her hair over and over.

I rub my eyes and open the front door. Kellin yawns as he moves past me. He drops to the couch and is out in seconds. Besides the long night, the conversation on the car ride home was emotionally draining. But in the end, I think Kellin understood about Hope. It freaked him out and I know he’s far from comfortable about it, but he agreed to keep quiet. I know it’s as fucked up as a situation can get and I hate to ask that of him, but Hope’s got enough shit to deal with at the moment. I promised him I was taking care of it, and I think out of everything I’ve ever done, that could be the lie that sends me to hell. Because I don’t know how to help her. But I will find a way. I have to.

Mom’s in the kitchen and the sight of her in front of the stove doesn’t match the delicious smell wafting through the air. “Hey,” I say.

She comes around the bar and hugs me. “How are they?” She leans back and touches my cheeks for a moment. “You look like shit.”

“Don’t say shit, Mom.”

She smiles weakly and backs up. “Any news?”

I sit on the stool and let my head thud onto the counter. “Guy’s out of surgery. We can go up when he wakes up and gets moved to his own room.”

“How’s Hope?”

I raise my head and rest it on a fist. “She’s a mess. She expects everyone she cares about to leave her on a good day, so this is… She’s not taking it well.”

Mom nods. “Mm. Glass half empty girl.”

“It’s more like she assumes someone emptied half her glass just to mess with her.”

She moves back to the stove. “She has good reason to feel jilted, Mace. The poor girl’s had a shit life.” All her attention is focused on the pan in front of her. “You know better than anyone how hard the loss of a parent can be.”

Yeah. I do.

“It’s my fault they were in the accident,” I say. Mom looks at me, brows raised. “I waited all night for her to call me on it. I just waited, thinking he was going to die and she would realize I could’ve prevented it, she’d hate me, and I’d lose a friend and the only girl I’ve ever cared about. Then he gets out of surgery and I think it’ll only be half as bad. I figure it’s coming, any moment she’ll say it. Break things off with me. Now that he’s in the clear, ya know? But nothing. I’m terrified to go back.”

“How is any of this your fault?”

I rub my forehead, trying to smooth away the stress induced pain there. “She asked me to stop Park from driving, but I stayed with her. It would’ve taken me a minute to run outside and tell them to give me the keys.”

“Did you give them the alcohol? Make them drink?”

“You know I didn’t,” I say. I know what she’s doing. She’s always been big on taking responsibility for your actions. But that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.

“They knew they shouldn’t drink and drive. They made a choice.” She touches my shoulder and I look up at her. “It’s not your fault. That’s why Hope isn’t blaming you.”

I don’t say anything. There’s no point arguing with Mom, whether she’s wrong or not. I let it go and change the subject. “What are you making?”

She spins around and peeks into the pan. “Vegetable soup. I’ll bring it by later. I figure it will be easy to heat up and should feed all those kids.”

“Don’t you think they’ve suffered enough?” I say with a smirk.

She glances over her shoulder and gives me the Mom Glare. “I got the recipe off the internet. It was really easy. I don’t think I can screw this up. Plus,” she adds, stirring the soup gently, “I’m cooking it on a low heat so I can’t burn it.”

I grin. She can burn anything. It took her nearly a year to get grilled cheese down. “Just test it out before you make the trip over to Hope’s. Maybe wait an hour after you eat it, too.”

“Why?” She sips broth from the spoon and shrugs.

“If you can keep it down that long we’ll know you won’t accidentally poison everyone.” I chuckle and she throws the spoon at me.

“Go away. Don’t you need a shower?”

I stand up and lean over the counter, kissing her on the cheek. “Thanks, Mom. They’ll appreciate it, I’m sure.”