Old habits die hard, I guess, because mindlessly I get up and I walk silently from Beckett’s room to mine, shutting the door before Mocha can join me.
I reach up into my closet and grab the box I keep hidden up there. I pull it down and set it on the bed. I feel like a zombie as I move, almost like I’m not even connected to myself. A ghost on the outside that watches as I set the box down and remove the lid. I take out the letters that sit on top, the journals, taking out the few other trinkets that are stuffed into the box before finding what I’m looking for. I’m not entirely sure why I kept it. Maybe to prove to myself that I’m stronger than I once was, that maybe I would never have to go back to the dark place I once was in. Or maybe…I kept it in case I did end up back here. Some things never go away.
I stare at the razor blade in my palm, and I slide down the wall to sit on the floor.
As I stare down at the piece of metal, I expect it to jumpstart my heart or maybe make me feel some kind of guilt for thinking this way.
I expect it to maybe fix me, to whisper that I don’t need this, I’ve already come way too far to do this.
But instead it whispers,one little cut won’t hurt.Two will make you feel something. Every cut after that will release the pain, and all the big feelings contained under the skin.
It’s not a loud voice, but it’s a soft, reassuring one. A familiar voice that used to bring comfort, to remind me that it was ok being different. That sometimes you need the physical pain to drown out the mental one.
The piece of metal cradled in my hand whispers that all of the darkness just needs a way out, it just needs to escape.
I don’t hate myself like I thought I would. Instead, I only feel relief as I press the piece of metal to my thigh and drag it across the already imperfect skin.
35
SLOANE
PRESENT DAY…
Ifeel the bed dip, and I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep. It’s what I’ve done all day. I feel horrible because all I want is to be wrapped safely in his arms, where nothing and no one can ever hurt me again.
I don’t deserve him. At least that’s what the monsters in my head keep telling me.
The music in my headphones pauses, he gently removes them from my head, and I just lie still.
“Hey, I know you’re not really asleep. You can keep pretending, if you want. You don’t have to listen to what I’m about to say, but I’m going to tell you anyway.” He pauses for a moment like he expects me to do something, to get a reaction of some sort, but he doesn’t. I just lay still.
“I don’t know what exactly is going on with you, and I don’t need you to tell me. But I do want you to know that whatever it is, I want to fight it with you. I’m worried about you, Sloane. I know there’s a lot going on inside that pretty little head ofyours, and when you’re ready, I’ll be here. Because I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my temple.
I squeeze my eyes tighter, and the tears fall harder.
“Mocha and I went to the store, and we picked you out a couple of things,” he whispers, but I still don’t turn.
He gets up off the bed, opens the door, and disappears for a few minutes. I hear Mocha’s little toes on the hardwood hallway as he runs. He jumps onto the bed and is actually surprisingly gentle as he forces his way into my arms.
Beckett’s footsteps follow, and the bed dips under his weight as he sits down, this time closer to me.
He places his hand on my back and gently rubs soothing circles on it. “The first thing is from Mocha. Here, bud, hand your present to Mommy.”
I let my eyes peek open as Mocha drops a little purple ball next to my face. When I look up at Mocha, his top lip is stuck up on his tooth, making him look like a derp. I force a sad smile onto my face as I reach for the ball and pull it into my chest.
“The next one is also from Mocha, because he wouldn’t part with it, just don’t squeak it or he goes crazy,” Beckett says, handing Mocha a second toy, this one gets dropped right on my head, a purple and pink little dog toy moose.
I gently pull it into my chest, holding both the ball and the little moose tightly in my arms.
“This last one is mostly from me, but Mocha wanted me to let you know that he also helped in the choosing of it,” he whispers, very gently rolling me so that I’m forced to face him.
I let him roll me while I keep the toys held tightly to my chest.
“Beck…” I whisper as I see the item he holds in his hands. A little purple bunny, one almost identical to the one I had as a kid, just much, much newer.
“You said that you had a stuffed bunny that you’d tell all your secrets to, and while I hope that I can one day be that person foryou, here’s another little friend that can hopefully keep all your deepest secrets until you trust me enough to give them to me,” he whispers, holding out the little bunny. I reach out for him, not the bunny, although the bunny is pretty cute.
He holds the bunny out to me, and I shake my head. “You,” I whisper, my voice shaky and barely audible.
