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“But if we lost you, we’d lose everything you were going to accomplish. And every life that was supposed to be touched by you wouldn’t be. You are important. So are all the things you will create and the lives you will change.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks once again. Why was she crying over everything all of a sudden? It was like a dam had burst forth, and she couldn’t get it closed again.
“But none of that will happen if your life ends,” he finished.
Emma licked her lips, tasting her salty tears. “Thank you.”
The doctor nodded and then motioned to the nurse still standing on the other side of the room.
Melanie handed Emma a few pamphlets.
“These are a few of the best rehabilitation centers in the country for people who self-harm. My professional advice is to go and get help,” Dr. O’Malley said, rising from the chair.
Realization hit. She’d sworn not to become addicted to something that could control her life. Sworn she would be the one to hold the power. She’d wielded a razor blade, mutilating her own skin in an attempt to grasp just a piece of that illusive control. But it had all been a lie. It was all an illusion of red.
“I’ll think about it,” she promised.
“Your boyfriend is outside. Should we send him in?”
Emma nodded, preparing herself to face one of her angry bandmates.
“You’ve got a whole group of people here for you who’ve been hounding the nurses for updates. You’ve got a lot to live for,” he said before he left.
Melanie followed him out.
Emma closed her eyes, trying to take a deep breath, but her chest ached as it stretched from her attempt. She winced.
“Emma?”
Her eyes shot open. Link walked in, eyes bloodshot and blurry with tears. What is he doing here?
He took the seat next to her, leaning in. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me?”
A sob burst from her. Pain radiated in her chest. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”
He placed a hand over her cheek, using his thumb to wipe the tears away. “What were you trying to do?”
She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. Instead, she stared at his wrist. There was no hiding this from him anymore. He was here for Christ’s sake. But keeping the truth buried inside for so long made it hard to find the words. How many times had she swallowed the confession down?
His thumb rubbed soft circles on her collarbone as he waited patiently.
She owed him this much. “Sometimes, I cut myself because it makes me feel more in control of the emotional pain. And it helps me feel something besides numb.”
He didn’t say anything, so she glanced at him.
One tear had fallen over each side of his face, leaving a wet trail down his brown cheeks before disappearing into his beard. “How long?”
She swallowed. “Since I was a teenager.”
“How could I not see how much you were hurting?” His voice was raw.
“Because I didn’t want you to. I’m really good at pretending.”
“Why would you hide that from me?” He trembled.
“I hide it from everyone. Well . . . I mean, Dad knew. I think he saw the marks one time.”
His hands dropped to hers. “Dad knew?”
