Chewing his lip nervously, his eyes widened. “You saw that?”
I nodded.
“It’s just an off-brand Tylenol,” he defended quickly. “It’s a reminder, sorta. To never do it again. That shit sucked, and I still get phantom symptoms from it.” His body shuddered against me.
Relief picked apart the tension in my muscles one by one. I knew it had to be something like Tylenol, but the idea it was there had scared the shit out of me. It would’ve been better if he’d never attempted it, but I was glad he didn’t have plans to do it again.
I ran a hand through his hair, letting the strands fall between my fingers. “You know you can talk to me, right? Whenever you feel like cutting. I won’t take it away from you, but I also don’t want you to get hurt.”
His body stiffened slightly. “That’s the point, isn’t it?”
“You know what I mean. If you were to cut too much, or too deep—” I shook my head. “Just know I’m here, okay? Anything I can do to make it better, or easier. Whatever you need.”
There was beauty in the sun, and then there was beauty in Crew.How his face relaxed, his body following suit against my lap. “I know. I’ll try, but I’m not used to people seeing me like this.”
God, I’d never get over the slight drawl in his accent. The way he said “try,” as if theyhad dropped off and was cut short. Just him accepting and knowing that I’d be there was enough for me, so I let it go. I hoped more than trusted that he knew I was serious.
Crew took one of my arms, bringing it close to his face. I let him do as he wished, knowing he was staring at the small scars there. When he started to move his fingertips over them, I couldn’t help but jolt a bit. Nobody had done that to me before, so it felt… weird. The way he concentrated as he went over each one made it better, his brows furrowed as he traced them under the camouflage of my tattoos.
He didn’t let go of my arm, but he looked at me and spoke in a hushed tone. “You said there was some shit going down with your parents. That you felt it was your fault. Can I ask what was going on?”
The question made me flinch internally for a minute. I’d made peace with a lot of what happened, but the memories still hurt. “You know how my dad was an addict?” I waited until he nodded. “He got hurt when I was really young. Had to get back surgery. The doctors put him on Oxycodone. He got hooked immediately and mixed it with alcohol further down the line. It wasn’t so bad at first. But when it got bad, it got awful. Nodding off at the kitchen table, making huge messes, getting angry because he didn’t have any oxy, so he’d drink himself into a drunken rage.”
I looked away from Crew, too afraid I’d start to cry if I didn’t. “He never hurt me, but he hurt my mom. I can’t fucking stand rough shit because every time I see it, or I see a bruise, it reminds me of Mom. I loved her so much, Pretty Boy.” My voice cracked, forcing me to clear my throat. “Anyway, Mom stopped homeschooling me abruptly, so I was in a new environment with all these new kids I’d never met before, my dad was yelling all the time, and my mom was crying constantly. Dad started forgetting to pick me up from school, so I had to switch to the bus. That was a culture shock by itself.
“But then he started forgetting to unlock the door to the house for when I got home. My scratching got worse and worse until I found cooking, and then Dad yelled about that. The mess I’d make, the amount of food I’d make, everything under the sun. Mom took Dad’sside every time. She never protected me, and Dad never got sober. They got a divorce out of necessity when I was a teenager, though it didn’t last long.”
Crew linked our fingers together, holding my hand tight. “Did your mom go back to him?”
I nodded, gripping his hand tighter to keep the tears at bay. Knowing how unimportant I was to them hurt. “Yeah, she did. He said he was sober, and she believed him. This time around, he stopped hitting her, but she enabled him. I don’t really understand it, to be honest. She stopped showing up to my events at school, and when it was my birthday, she’d be too busy trying to get money to feed his addiction to even tell me she loved me. The day she didn’t show up for my graduation, I knew I’d lost her completely. I moved to Crescent Planes and the rest is history.”
“I’m so sorry, Prince Charming.” His words were soft, and when I looked down at him, his eyes were full of sorrow. It was different, though. The sorrow wasn’t for himself, but for me. “Did you have any friends growing up to help you like Willow did me?”
I huffed a pitiful laugh at that. “Not a single one. I was lonely at school and even more lonely at home. I didn’t have my first friend until I started at The Arch. Her name was Samantha.”
“Was?” Crew’s frown turned deeper.
Shaking my head, I tried to explain. “Sorry, bad choice of words. She didn’t die; she just slowly ghosted me a while back. With her out of my life for apparently no reason, I couldn’t find it in myself to open up to someone new. But I was lonely, so I did the only thing I could think of to keep the itching at bay when cooking stopped helping.”
The tickle of Crew’s hand running up and down my arm almost imitated the itching I was trying to avoid. But his skin on mine felt so right, I didn’t stop it.
“Is that when you started to pay for sex?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment when he said it.
I nodded. “And I drowned myself in alcohol while cooking a million recipes a day.”
Admitting it was painful. Muscle after muscle relaxed, the weight of my secrets shedding off them. With each taut coil that unwound itself came a burning sensation; one of shame and disappointment in myself.Crew didn’t tease me. He didn’t look at me any differently than he had before.
I think that was what saved me. He beckoned me to get closer, folding my body almost in half to obey. A whisper in the wind, barely audible above the rushing water around us, he told me a secret of his own.
“I’m glad I’m in your life now.” His palm pressed against the side of my face, mimicking how I held him earlier. “I’ll be your friend, Prince Charming. Hopefully, I can make the itching better.”
At that moment, I was swimming in the water below us. Wave after wave crashed into me, my legs barely holding against the current. Crew’s face was hazy and discordant in my vision, so close while simultaneously so far away.
“You do,” I whispered back.
He calmed the war constantly raging between my soul and body. I knew when he finally decided to leave, I’d attempt to break the barrier myself by ripping my skin open until everything came out.
A plea stopped just before my lips, playing repeatedly in my head instead.
