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None of it was enough.
I was only fucking with myself. My whacked-out head knew what it wanted. Knew what would make everything better. Just like all the other times. Hitting my head and scratching myself was child’s play, a futile attempt to avoid that dark place. To show I had truly changed.
Changed? Really Tara? Once an addict, always an addict.
I knew this. My medical file said as much.
NSSI. Those four letters summed up my plight. I performed the stupid rituals to find comfort in physical pain, so I didn’t feel emotions.
NSSI was an acronym for non-suicidal self-injury. My therapist had helped me admit why I hurt myself after years of enduring abuse when I was a kid. I’d gotten better. Graduated from college, had friends, and a solid career. I’d been living a good, stable,healthylife until Hero destroyed everything.
Biting my bottom lip, I opened the cabinet door and fished out the box of tampons I hid my stash in.
My heart rate increased as I removed the lighter and the cigarettes. I wasn’t a smoker—only a little pot occasionally. You’d think I was a druggy the way my hands shook, needing a fix.
Don’t do it. Once you start, you won’t stop. You don’t fucking need Hero.
But I did need him.
Worse yet, I loved him.
He rejected you, you stupid bitch. It’s his loss!
No, it was mine.
What was wrong with me? I wished I knew what made me so unlovable. Why everyone left me.
I dropped the lighter and box of cigarettes and slapped myself in the face over and over. How could I be so stupid? Daddy told me I was a waste of air. Told me nobody would ever love me. Told me I’d always be alone.
He was right.
Daddy left me after Mom’s death. Madeline left me for Dane, then Storm. Hero left me after months of chasing me. He’d acted like he cared about me when the Dirty Hunters captured us. He made love to me before going on the run. Told me to stay in his room as if he’d claimed me.
It had fucked me up big time when he didn’t return with Storm. And now…
“I promised myself I would never fall in love again.”His words ravaged my heart.
Jesus, he’d even called me, mi vida.I remembered from my Spanish class it meantmy life. Why would he say that?
Because he was fucking with you. You’re not worth the air. Only worth the laugh for how much he made you think he loved you.
I grabbed the lighter, flicked it on, and watched the flame dance. It was mesmerizing how the slightest bit of air or movement in my hand made it wiggle and pull from one side to the other. Back and forth, I watched it, thoroughly entranced with the flame.
If only I could stop there. Watch the flame. Let it absorb the emotions.
But it wouldn’t work. My fucked up mind knew what it needed.
I took a cigarette out of the box and sniffed it. The hairs on my arms stood as a wave of nausea hit me. I shouldn’t do this. I knew I shouldn’t, but here I was about to revert into my old ways because I was so damn sad—over a man.
Pathetic. You’re just pathetic.
Not. Worth. The. Air.
Teasingly, I lowered the stick to my inner thighs. My muscles locked up, remembering the searing pain I was about to experience after years of doing so damn good. It’d taken me years of therapy before I forgave myself for following in my father’s demented footsteps. Now I was throwing it all away.
I should stop myself.
I wouldn’t, though. I was too far gone to care…
