But I can’t dissuade my brain otherwise, I need the relief. I stagger to my feet, nearly tripping over Fiasco as I fumble for the door. The room turns upside down, but I keep my steps going as the hallway stretches too long, dragging me deeper into a fog.
My hand skims the wall, the picture frames with blinks of Joe’s smile, and sweat forms on my forehead. Desperate to hold myself upright as my pulse roars in my ears, I pray Liam won’t hear or see me like this.
The bathroom door creaks as I shove inside and quietly close it with shaking fingers. The lock doesn’t work. Shit. I twist thebathtub faucet on, and the rush of water swallows the sound of my contained sobs. Stripping the sweatshirt off, I almost drop to my knees. I tear through the counter drawers, frantic, scattering useless bottles and combs, searching for — God, anything.
My vision blurs, I need release, need the storm inside me to bleed out before it eats me alive. My fingers finally close on something cold, small, sharp. I steady myself and slide one leg after the other into the bathtub, letting my body envelop in the warm, soothing water.
For a second, it feels like this could be enough to soothe me, but it isn’t. It never is enough. The panic roars again, and my ears ring with my mother’s screams when she found out my brother had died, Joe kissing me, the newspaper with his motorcycle engulfed in flames.
I need it to stop. Please, stop.
I press the blade to my arm, my breath catching, tears streaming hot down my face and my body tingles from the release, dizzying me. It is the only thing that has helped, and no one knows, not even Joe. How can I ever explain…
The first cut splits through my skin, and relief slams into me like a tide, terrible, shameful, but immediate. The cries stuck in my chest break free, as crimson wells up in the water. My pain, my blood in the water and there is something horribly messed up yet equally addictive that makes me feel alive, that makes me want to fight. Fight for me, fight for this woman inside who desperately wants to escape the hurt but doesn’t know how. I know that one day I will be the version the old me runs to for protection but today is not that day.
As the voices dissipate, and I feel my breath calming in the steam filling the bathroom, fogging the mirror, I freeze at the sound of his voice.
“Sara.”
My head snaps up, and my heart stops. He is in the doorway, shadows stretching long across the tiles. No knock. No warning. Just Liam, filling the room with too much presence, his icy blue eyes locking on me in the tub, and I feel mortified, then his eyes on the razor and on the streak of red dissolving in the water. I stay frozen, unable to form a single sound, staring at him and waiting for a reaction.
I imagine disgust and hate in his eyes as I’ve gotten used to. Disappointment, shock, something! But none of these come. He is a reflection in a house of mirrors, looking back at me, unmoved and stoic. The blade slips from my hand, clattering against porcelain before sinking out of sight.
My arms fold across myself, but there’s nowhere to hide. I’m dreading each step closer as he pulls up his sleeve and fishes out the blade, setting it on the counter, giving me a glimpse of his eyes that have darkened and his jaw clenches.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Anger fills his voice, and… His eyes sear into the line across my arm, his thumb brushing the blood. “You think this makes it stop? You think bleeding out brings him back?”
Tears blur everything, and I ache all over, trying so hard to hold on to the last strings of dignity I have left, but everything slips away from me like water between my fingers.
I shake my head, choking. “I just—I can’t—I don’t know how else—”
“Jesus Christ.” Tightening his grip, his gaze flicks down my body, then jerks away, a muscle in his jaw spasming with all the hate and disgust that finally hits him. He shuts off the water, his eyes burning down at me.
My voice cracks. “The cuts will not kill me, Liam. It’s just like breathing. Breathing out the pain that’s been eating me alive. I don’t know how else to make it stop. I’m sorry.” I don’t even know why I’m apologizing.
Something in his face shifts, like I’ve split open a seam he doesn’t want touched. When he finally speaks, the words are nothing like I expect.
“What do you need?” My eyes snap to his, wide, stunned.
“What?” I ask, but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink, looks at me with… empathy?
“Tell me what you need,” he asks, louder but caring. My voice trembles, and I don’t know what to ask for.
“I d-don’t know…”
And then he doesn’t hesitate. Fully dressed in his white shirt and grey sweatpants, Liam steps behind me and lowers himself to sit in the bath with me.
“The water—” I choke. “It’s bloody—” His strong arms wrap around me, hauling me against his chest, and the relief shocks me to my core. I curl my whole body in on itself; he’s not even the one I need holding from, but there’s a point in life when any arms that could anchor around you would feel like a million words you need to hear to keep you from sinking.
He cups my face and pulls me close to his neck. “Don’t worry. It’s not the first blood on my hands.” His words, almost a whisper, electrifies the air we share.
Although it should scare me, they don’t. I want to hide in him. I want to hide from the world and let someone carry and take this ache from me, even if it’s for a minute, even if it’s from someone who hates me. In this moment, it isn’t Sara and Liam who want to hurt each other; in this moment, we are two humans offering relief. His hold is unbreakable, nurturing, and I didn’t know how much I needed it until I’m folded into his armor.
His lips brush my hair, his voice low. “Fuck, don’t do this yourself.”
My heart cracks wide on every ounce of grief I’ve buried, every wound I’ve hidden, and my tears spill hot.
“Let it out,” he murmurs. I feel safe in this moment, and I need this more than I’ll ever admit to him. My body tenses, and I can’t help digging my nails into his arm as my sobs strangle into his chest. His hand doesn’t stop caressing my collarbone in circles, as if he’s waiting for the pain to pass. I cry until the sound is hoarse, until my body goes limp, wrung out, every tremor leaving me like venom drained… until my breathing slows.
