Page 279 of Breathe Like Hell

I wasn’t the type of person who had something like that happen to them. Who was assaulted. Much less two times. This was me losing control and not telling Mason. This was not Mason doing anything to me.

What almost happened with Mason stood nowhere near the bad thing that happened in Heaven. They were categorically separate. I was weak and I made a decision not to say anything.

“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t because of you. I should’ve⁠—”

“Stop.” Mason’s voice was firm.

“I’m not going to stop. I lost control. I wasn’t prepared enough. This has nothing to do with you. You made no decision here.”

“Micah—”

“Shut the fuck up.” I shoved him off of me, my hands shaking and my jaw tight. “I failed. You remind me of my own failure. That’s the only reason I don’t want to look at you.” My chest rose and fell rapidly. I felt sick. There wasn’t enough neon in the air and there never would be. “I can’t⁠—”

“Hey. Okay. We’re done,” Mason said without argument, still holding my eye.

I froze, my mouth slightly open.

Then I snapped my jaw shut and left the kitchen, heading straight towards the stairs.

I went into my bedroom, straight through to the bathroom, but I didn’t shut either door. Doors wouldn’t keep Mason out if he wanted in. I steadied my hands enough to grab the box of razors from the drawer, then sat on the tile and carefully slid the blade along the length of my wrist. The pain was sharp and familiar and simple. Enough to bring back some of my focus.

I repeated the process on my other arm, then set the blade on the floor and waited for the wounds to heal. It used to be so fast in Heaven. Since my resurrection, my healing seemed slower than ever.

It’s fine.

What almost happened with Mason is in no way similar to what happened with him.

My eyes slid shut, my head tipping back to rest on the wall.

I sat like that for probably an hour, allowing my heart rate to come back to normal, then I reopened my eyes and traced my fingertips over my skin. Not fully healed, but close.

Footsteps in my bedroom had me turning my head to see Mason enter the bathroom. I was so weak I almost wanted to reach for him. Pretending not to miss his familiarity might be the thing to kill me, long before my lies or my wounds. But I kept my mouth shut, and my hands to myself.

He sat down across from me without a word, then motioned for me to give him the razor blade. I did, then watched him slice identical lines into his forearms.

“I did this after you died,” he commented, wincing slightly. “So I could feel closer to you.”

“You also crashed my Audi.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

“I’ll get one myself.” If the university gives me my job back. I’d made no effort to contact anyone at Blackpine yet. I would. Just not now. I took the blade back from Mason and recreated my wounds. Blood and ichor were dripping all over the tile from both of us. Nothing black stained my blood, so I had to assume only the outside of my veins had been darkened in the burn.

The scene we made now was too similar to the past. The lick of a blade over clean skin, blood-soaked love imprinted by a fist, his mouth just below my ear whispering promises that made life worth living. I wasn’t sure if my death had made me more sentimental, or simply worse at pushing these thoughts out of my brain.

All I knew was it’d become really fucking difficult to keep hating him. It was hard to pretend that I wasn’t affected by our proximity.

“You’re the first person who ever intrinsically understood I wasn’t born craving pain,” Mason said, drawing me from my thoughts.

I looked at him, darkness blanketing the space around us.

He continued. “You’re the first person who actually cared to understand anything about being Thrausian. The first one to not despise me for it.”

“I know,” I said quietly.

“I’m just reminding you. And maybe this isn’t as poetic or nice to say but you’re also the first angel I saw have a dark complexity in their brain—one unrelated to being Thrausian. I don’t want you to think I fell in love with you because I watched you slice your thigh open with a knife, but I want you to know it’s part of it.”

The edges of my mouth twitched towards a frown, so I stared at my forearms.