Caleb takes a seat against the wall, right next to the black-framed mirror in front of me, and when I lift my rheumy eyes to his, my chin still pressed to my chest, I find his wrists hanging over his gray joggers at his knees, his dark curls rolling into his eyes and his worried, emerald orbs zeroed in on mine. His jaw clenches, then he tilts his head toward my ravaged ankles.
“What happened, B?”
That’s what he calls me now, and I like it—makes me feel important.
I thread a trembling hand through my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “Get out of my business, Caleb,” My words are spokencasually, like what he’s seeing is no big deal, and not to make it one.
His back lifts from the wall when he extends his hands and snatches up both of mine.
“Nope, not gonna, don’t wanna,” he whispers, squeezing them before letting go and slumping back against the wall with a loud thud. “I care about you, Blaine,” he says seriously.
I keep my chin down and mumble, “That’s because my brother told you to.”
“What did you say?” he asks, not quite hearing me.
I flick my gaze to the damaged door, diverting the conversation away from me and, better yet, toward the timber he just barreled through. “What are you going to do about the door?”
He chuckles quietly. “Fuck the door.”
I raise my eyes, and he jerks his chin toward my ankles again. “Does your brother know?”
I ponder how to answer his question, and before I can, he continues, “That you hurt yourself?”
My head shoots up, and I pierce my gaze right into his.He thinks I’m hurting myself.
“Are you fucking serious?” My tone is razor sharp, pissed off at the accusation.
He doesn’t even flinch. He takes the barbs as if the pointed wire is blunt.
“Does he know?” he repeats, and as he says the words, it reminds me of Keaton, and I hate that, the overly protective brother act.
I push back, my ass burning on the carpet, my spine connecting with the end of the bed. It hurts, yet I don’t recoil.
Dropping my chin to my chest, my voice comes out shaky. “I’m not strong enough to hurt myself, Caleb. I fucking wish I was so I could rid myself of all of this fucking pain. But I’m not.I’m fucking weak.” I exhale the breath trapped in my lungs. “Just the way they wanted me to be.”
“What was that?” he asks, his voice an octave deeper.
My head flies upward, and I see his spine turn ramrod straight, his eyes unblinking.
“Just the way they fucking wanted me to be!” I snap.
Fuck.
“They? Who are they?” Caleb’s eyebrows furrow when he asks the question. He’s confused, and I don’t blame him. I can see his brain ticking over, processing through his eyes as they take in the flayed ribbons of my ankles.
Pushing up from the ground, I walk across the room to my suitcase. I rummage through it until I find a pair of clean red socks, pulling them up over my ankles until the mess is hidden andhopefullyforgotten about.
Though I knew it wouldn’t be that easy when I feel a hand wrap around my wrist tightly.
I don’t turn around. I stay very still, snarling beneath my breath, “Don’t fucking touch me.” I slice my hand down, breaking his contact, and he quickly places his open palms beside his head in surrender.
“Blaine, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” He doesn’t manage to finish his sentence before my shoulder connects with his arm and I stride right past him.
When I get to the edge of the room, I spin around, pinning Caleb with my vacant gaze. “And don’t you dare fucking tell him.”
He tsks, then shakes his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sweetheart.”
That is when I lose my mind. I barrel toward him, my hands meeting solid muscle at his chest as I attempt to push him, though he doesn’t move an inch.
