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17
River
We had plannedto make a few more stops after the little gas station break, but after that encounter, we decide to just head home.
I sit in the back of the car, watching trees and buildings and other cars whip past, feeling like there are bees under my skin. It’s like I can hear Julian’s voice on a loop in my head, talking about how Hannah betrayed him and no one would mourn her.
It’s true that she didn’t have a lot of people left in her life, but I would mourn her. I mourn her every fucking day, and she deserves so much better than to just be forgotten.
Anger and sadness war for top position in my heart, and I just sit there, glaring out the window, wishing I could have punched Julian in his stupid fucking face at the very least.
“He’s a piece of shit,” Knox is saying from the passenger seat. Ash is driving because Knox is clearly almost as pissed as I am about what just happened. “Standing there all smug and shit like he’s not the reason she’s dead. Fucker. He doesn’t deserve the air he fucking breathes. We’re going to take him down, and I’m going to love every fucking second of it, but I wish we could have grabbed him right then. Just take him down to the basement for a little chat, that’s all. He can have a chat with my fucking machete to his balls.”
Hearing Knox going off makes me feel a little bit better, at least. And it’s a nice thought in a fucked up way. Knox would definitely make him pay if he got the chance.
We get home and head inside, and I start to go upstairs, just needing to decompress from all that bullshit. Ash catches my wrist before I can leave the entry way and looks at me.
I can see the concern in his eyes, and even though he doesn’t say anything, I know what he wants to know.
“I’m okay,” I tell him. “I’m not going to go anywhere, I just need to be alone for a little while.”
Ash just nods and lets me go. He bites his lip, and I can see the worry playing over his face.
I meant what I said, though. I don’t plan to go anywhere other than to my room. I don’t want to try to run from these men or this thing between us. But I’m not okay.
I can feel that numbness and pain creeping in on me, threatening to drag me back to that cold, dark place I was in the night Hannah died.
Seeing Julian brought it all back. I’ve been seeing him in my nightmares for the last few days, but having him in front of me, in the flesh just made it all so much more real.
I keep thinking about what he said, how he killed Hannah and doesn’t even fucking care, and that just guts me. I already knew it would be like that, but hearing it brings it into sharp relief.
I feel myself spiraling, giving in to the darkness and the grief that I’ve been doing better at holding back lately. So I dig my razor blade out of the drawer, gripping the cool metal hard in my hand.
It feels good just to hold it for a second, and then I drag it across my skin, letting the blade bite into my flesh. I haven’t done this in a while, but the compulsion is rising again.
I need it. I need the grounding. I need to feel pain that isn’t in my heart.
The door to my room opens, and Knox comes in unannounced.
I stop with the blade in my hand and look at him, but I don’t bother to hide it, just like I didn’t with Gage. It’s too late now to try to pretend I’m not as fucked up as I am. They all know anyway. They’ve all seen my scars, the ones from other wounds and the ones I gave myself in their neat little lines. They’ve seen it all.
Knox doesn’t say anything at first. He just comes over and sits beside me on the bed. He reaches over and takes the blade from my hand, turning it over and looking at it. When he speaks, his voice is uncharacteristically quiet.
“You could cut me instead if it would help,” he says.
“It’s not the same,” I murmur back.
“I know. But I just don’t like to see you hurting.”
I roll my eyes. “You’ve hurt me plenty,” I tell him, gesturing to the still healing wound on my arm and the scars on my back from where he carved into me.
“That’s not what I mean,” Knox insists. “I don’t like to see you hurting in here.” He puts a hand on my chest.
My heart aches at that, feeling like it’s expanding and being squeezed at the same time. I don’t know what to do with these men sometimes—especially when they say shit like that. These brutal, dangerous men, who want so badly to protect me. To keep me whole when the world keeps trying to shatter me into a million jagged pieces.
I lean up and kiss him, resting my hand at the back of his head. It’s easier than trying to figure out how to say how much it means to me that they give a shit, and Knox will get the message.
He kisses me back, keeping his hand on my chest. It starts as just me trying to say thank you, but then it grows and deepens, turning more intense the way it always does between us.
