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She was drifting in a cloud of grey that grew darker and darker, like the sun was setting on her world. The alcohol barely worked to numb the pain. In the two weeks since she’d left, she’d pulled the blade out more than once. This was the quickest relief. The only way she could take control of the emotional riot raging in her soul before she broke down. She couldn’t afford for the dam to break—surely it would drown her. She’d stuffed so much down for so long. That inky blackness would suffocate her in its oily darkness.
Emma tossed the razor in the trash bin and rinsed her arm. She’d needed to go deeper this time and make an extra cut for the same relief. Pressing the paper towel onto the wound to stop the bleeding, she closed her eyes and sat on the closed toilet.
The latch clicked open. Asher’s dark eyes fixed in horror on her arm. “What the fuck happened?” he boomed.
Emma blanched. “N-nothing. I just, uh, cut it on the, uh . . . thingy when I reached under the sink for more toilet paper. The bus swayed, and I lost my balance.”
Asher eyed the half-full roll of toilet paper, clearly catching her in a lie. His brows drew together as he shut the door behind him, locking them in together. “I thought you stopped this?” He reached under the sink and pulled out a first aid kit before holding his palm open for her hand.
She sighed. Asher had seen the marks in high school. He was the one who’d suggested the bracelet. He’d always been good at hiding secrets.
“I did.”
“You gonna let some asshole who didn’t see what he had in front of him this whole time drive you back into carving yourself up like this?” he asked, grabbing a tube from the kit and rubbing some antibacterial ointment onto the cuts.
The pain morphed into a dull burn of shame. She hissed and blinked away tears. “I just needed to take the edge off.”
“Then fuck him out of your system or have a drink and write a song about him. Don’t hurt yourself.” Asher pressed a gauze onto the cuts and taped it to her arm.
“And become a sex addict like you?” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.
“I hardly think I qualify as an addict. I’m just a young man sowing my wild oats, living the dream of being a rock star.” He winked.
Asher clipped her leather cuff back on, where it hid the white gauze perfectly. He lifted Emma’s hand until she was standing, squished against him in the tiny room. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight.
“That motherfucker might not know what he had, but we do. We got your back, Em. Someday you’re gonna find a man or woman who will worship the ground you walk on and never let you go. Hell, you already have us five.” Asher spoke softly in her ear.
Maybe he was right. Or maybe it was time she stopped chasing a happily ever after. She would live for the moment. Fuck everything else. “You’re right. Fuck him.”
“That’s my girl.”
Knock. Knock.
“What the hell is taking you so long? I gotta piss,” Ravi called through the door.
“Eating pussy! Come back later,” Asher shouted to Ravi before turning back to Emma and whispering, “Promise me you’ll come to me instead of doing this next time.”
Emma nodded, not able to speak the lie.
“You’re gay.” Ravi deadpanned through the door.
“And I’m pretty sure the alphabet mafia would take my rainbow card if they knew I liked doing it. So keep it down.” Asher sniggered.
Emma couldn’t stop her giggles as he put the first aid kit back under the sink.
“Come on. Play along,” he whispered.
“Ohhhhh,” she moaned between fits of laughter.
“Yeah, baby, you taste so good!” Asher yelled.
“Asher! Yes, right there, right . . . YES!” Emma shouted an orgasm so fake it was porn-worthy.
Asher opened the door and wiped his face with the back of his hand. Ravi leaned against the other side of the hall, his arms crossed and an amused smile playing on his lips. “Nice try. Now move before I piss all over you.”
“Now, that would be kinky. Maybe we should do like the papers say and have an orgy,” Asher joked.
Emma smacked his chest and headed towards her bed in the back of the bus.
