I pull up Patch’s name on my phone. After a few weeks of fucking he finally gave me his number. I don’t know why. That was all we were. We were all about sex and nothing more. So why do I feel a connection to him? Why do I feel like it hurts to breathe without him? Stupid, Anika. You went through a traumatic experience with him, that’s why. It means nothing.
I type out a text that says I’m sorry. Then I delete before retyping it once more. What am I sorry for? For caring about him? For being in the situation with him? What the hell do I have to be sorry for? I didn’t plan on any of this. I didn’t want this. And yet I feel sorry. I feel sorry that he went through it. I feel sorry that he had to deal with what he did. And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m fucking sorry.
My finger hovers over the send button for a long time. I think it over. What could it hurt to send? What difference would it make?
After debating it in my head for what seems like forever, I press the goddamn button and send the two little words that make my chest deflate. It feels good to have said it. I don’t know why. I can’t explain it, but it did.
I go to my music app and pull up the songs. Slipknot’s Snuff plays over the small speaker in my room. I pick the blade up as I listen to the words. I close my eyes and get lost in the sound of his voice, the tone, the words.
I can hear Patch in my head telling me we were nothing but sex. I can hear that asshole who raped me breathing down my neck. I can feel his body pressed to mine. I can smell him. His breath as it danced across my face. I can taste the vomit in my mouth as I tried so fucking hard not to throw up as he took what he wanted.
I lift the blade and press it to my wrist. The music is louder now, thumping through my veins. I want to claw at my skin, I want to rip my hair out. I want to forget, I just want to forget it all.
Then I do it. I press the blade into my flesh and let out a sigh as I cut. It’s letting go. It’s like letting everything out. It feels … different. Good even.
The pain doesn’t even register as I drag the blade further up my arm. It’s euphoric. I keep my eyes closed and lean back against the headboard as warmth floods down my arm and drips onto my thigh.
It all fades. The hate, the pain, the fear. Behind my closed lids, there’s light. One I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Light that calls to me. Light that needs me.
And I want to let it take me. I want to let go. I want to see what’s on the other side of that light. I need to.
I lie here, basking in the warmth, when I hear Ellie. She’s calling me, but I can’t reach me. I’m drifting, floating into a place where no one can hurt me. No one can touch.
Chapter 19
Patch
I’ll be honest with myself and say that I’ve been fucking up. Badly. I know I have, but that’s what I thought needed to be done. That’s what I thought would get her out of my head. I was wrong.
That phone call came, and I lost it. I damn near broke everything in the clubhouse when I heard Ellie sobbing on the other end of the line. She cut her wrist. She bled out. Those were the words I heard from her. That was days ago, and I’m still not right in the head.
Kal checked on things. He made things right. He paid off those who needed to be paid off and brought her here. Ellie is a mess. She can barely eat and doesn’t sleep. The doc has come by more than once and even set up a room here to keep an eye on her.
But it’s me that’s still fucked up. It’s me that’s standing over Anika’s bed, staring her down. The doc has given her meds to sleep, but I want her awake. I want to shake her. I want to hit her. I want to throw her over my goddamn shoulder and shake the life back into her.
I’m pissed. I’m beyond pissed. I’m almost to the point of hating her. I should hate her for what she did.
I lean down and slap at her face, trying to wake her up.
“Get up,” I tell her as I smack her cheek. “Wake the fuck up, Anika!” I roar this time. I want to yell at her. I want to know what the fuck she was thinking when she did that. Why did she do it? I thought she was handling herself better than this. I thoughtshe was getting better. I was so fucking wrong. She was getting worse. She was falling deeper into a depression that no one could save her from. And I feel like that’s on me. I should have seen it. I should have known.
“Get the fuck up!” I scream louder this time. The door to her room opens, and Kal peeks in. He doesn’t say anything before pulling the door closed and leaving us alone again. He knows I need to do this.
“Get up, Anika!” I slap her face harder this time, and her eyes slowly flutter. After a second, she opens her eyes and looks up at me.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” she whispers, her voice scratchy.
“What were you doin’?” I growl.
“What?”
“What were you doin’? Slittin’ your fuckin’ wrist, Anika?” I’m pissed. I’m beyond pissed. I grab her face roughly in my hand, squeezing her cheeks.
“Let me go,” she says softly.
“No. Fuck you, Anika. Fuck you!”
“Let go of me, Patch,” she says, sounding a little angrier. I don’t care. I’m angry too.
