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"Show me your arm!"
Their eyes stayed locked as he placed his left arm on the table, palm up. Giselle grabbed his wrist, pulled it toward herself, and pushed up his sleeve.
A gasp escaped her lips. "Xavier!"
"I told you it didn't matter." He tried pulling his hand back but Giselle's grip was firm.
Her fingers grazed over the rough skin on his arm. The cuts dug deep and overlapped. Opened. Torn. Sliced. Again and again.
Dark spots dotted her vision and her mouth went dry. She didn't know how long she felt the cuts with her fingertips, how long she stared at the marred arm with tears in her eyes, or how long she tried to come up with something to say.
Her throat closed in on her, but she choked out, "What have you done to yourself?" She looked up at him, her vision blurred. "Why?"
Xavier stared at her face with no expression on his. "I needed the pain to leave scars."
Chapter 10
"You promised what?" Stewart hissed. "You promised her you'd leave the gang? Have you lost it?"
"I only promised that I'd talk to Sean," said Xavier, giving him a side glance as they entered the gates to the gang's den and walked toward the house.
His friend mockingly sighed in relief. "That solves everything. Sean is a peace of cake. Sean is a snuggly sleep blanket."
Xavier sighed. "I don't care, Stewart." He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes fixed on the cobbled floor he was walking on. "I don't care about the consequences. Since when have I?"
If he'd ever thought about the consequences of his actions, he thought, maybe his life would've been different. He wasn't worried, though. If Sean decided to kill him, he'd call it an escape. A mercy. But the only reason he hesitated even a little was that they knew about his weakness. And if they hurt her... Bile rose to his throat at the possibility.
Stewart's voice rose as he said, "Look!" Both of them looked around to see if any of the gang members were near. Taking a calming breath, he began speaking in whispers, "Look, if you mention anything about leaving, Sean will rip your head off." They stopped as Stewart placed his hand on his chest to make his point, "Literally."
"Like I said," spoke Xavier and removed Stewart's hand from his chest, his voice not coming down to a whisper, "I don't give a shit."
They stood there in silence, both looking expectantly at each other.
Stewart was the first to begin, "This is your home..."
"I don't have a home."
He resumed walking toward the house. Stewart trailed behind him.
He should've left a long time ago. But he'd considered his soul dark enough to deserve the depth of this atrociousness until Giselle lit it up with her purity.
He had nothing to lose. No family to take care of. He didn't even have any bridges to burn. Except for one thing. The orphanage he'd built in memory of his sister remained in Petrichor.
He stopped abruptly with the thought, the house only a foot away. Stewart bumped into him.
Xavier turned. "You okay, man?" The corners of his lips twitched up.
"Sorry," Stewart muttered, "I was thinking."
"I didn't know you had that privilege."
He snorted. "Lame. Even for you. You should try thinking sometimes. Knock some sense into your brain."
"And forget reality?" he mocked.
"No problem bumping into someone every once in a while."
"That's how you get yourself killed, idiot."
