Knowing that Marcus would do the dishes and then head straight for his room to chill while watching some documentary on the History channel, I locked the door to my bedroom and flopped down on my bed. I pulled my books and notes off the nightstand and flipped them all open.
My phone, which had already been on my pillow where I’d tossed it when I’d gotten back, made an angry noise and I glanced at it to see ten missed calls. All of them from Harris. I muted the phone, disabled the vibrate that would still go off if I got any calls or texts, and then forced my attention on the work that needed to get done.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to Harris. I fucking ached to hear his voice. I just didn’t have the strength to not break down tonight. He had too much on his plate to have to deal with me crying and sobbing right then.
Two more weeks, I reminded myself. Two more weeks and then I’d be home and I could see him any time I wanted. I’d have my own apartment and he could spend the night with me any time he wanted.
As I read over my notes, I found my mind wandering back to him over and over again. The distance that separated us felt like it was growing by the second, making the pain in my heart almost unbearable. Repeatedly my gaze kept going to my connecting bathroom and I tightened my fingers around my pencil, trying to fight the need to go in there and do the only thing that helped when things got this intense.
I reread the same page in my biology textbook five times without a single word of it making sense. My fingers tightened around the pencil even more until I heard the small crunch as the wood and lead started to protest and then completely broke in half. The small pain in my hand from the muscle cramp using the force to break the pencil didn’t even begin to distract me.
On autopilot, I got out of bed and walked sightlessly into the bathroom. Locking the door, I moved to the medicine cabinet and opened the mirrored door. With trembling fingers, I pulled out the fresh pack of lady razors that had already been stocked for me when I’d gotten back at the beginning of the semester.
I shouldn’t be doing this. I didn’t need to do this…
No! I didn’t need to do it. There were only two more weeks…
Two more weeks of missing Harris. Two more weeks of having thousands of miles between us. Two more weeks of being unable to focus. Two weeks.
I could handle two more weeks. I didn’t need to do this.
I didn’t.
But I did it anyway.
Taking off the leather bracelet I only took off when I showered, I looked down at the faint lines, some of them still pink and puckered up. The newest one had the indentions around it where I’d had to go to the local Med Express and get stitches because I’d gone too deep. That cut I’d made the first time I’d seen Harris in one of the tabloids with one of his Blonde Bombshells, thinking that he had moved on while I was stuck in some kind of twisted limbo without him.
I’d faked sick so Marcus wouldn’t get suspicious and then made him wait in the waiting room while I’d gone back and told the nurse some bogus story that she’d actually bought. I’d been opening a package with a box cutter, I’d told her. It had slipped and nicked me badly. The doctor hadn’t questioned my story either and had put the six stitches in before advising me to be careful next time. I’d paid with my credit card and then given Aunt Emmie the same story I’d told Marcus when she’d asked about it. Just a bug. Nothing to worry about. I would be better in a few days once the antibiotics took effect. Antibiotics that the doctor had given me to help prevent an infection around my stitches.
Stitches I’d taken out myself.
I’d gotten the leather bracelet to hide the proof of what I’d done. In the past I’d always cut the bottom of my feet to hide my dark secret. I never should have started doing it on a place that could so easily be seen, but the friendship tattoo Harris and I’d gotten had felt like it was mocking me when I’d seen those pictures of him with the blonde. I’d wanted it gone just as much as I’d needed the physical pain—the only release I ever got from the emotional shitstorm that tried to consume me.
Since then I’d been more careful with how deep I went when I cut. Just surface slices that would eventually fade, but it had turned the ink that matched Harris’s into an ugly, grotesque version it was now.
Like they always did when I picked up the little blade, my fingers shook as I fought the craving for the physical pain. I knew it was wrong, knew it didn’t solve anything. Knew that I should get help for this fucked-up addiction I’d come to rely on. Knowing those things, however, didn’t stop me from pressing the blade into my flesh and quickly making a little slash. Blood beaded up and I watched as a few drops spilled over my wrist and splashed onto the white porcelain of the sink.
With the slight pain came the instant ability to draw a deep breath and I let the small cut bleed for a moment before reaching for some tissues and holding it against the wound. Replacing the blade back into the disposable razor, I tossed it in the trash and found a Band-Aid. Swiping some antibiotic salve over the cut, I put on the Band-Aid and cleaned up any sign of what I’d just done.
Back in my room, I lay down on the bed just as a wave of shame washed over me. Tears blinded me and I pulled my pillow to my chest, burying my face in it so Marcus wouldn’t hear me as I cried myself to sleep…
The insistent knocking on the door to my suite woke me up hours later. I jerked awake and sat up in bed. My fingers went to my wrist, making sure my bracelet was on before I jumped out of bed. I was wearing the shorts and one of Harris’s old T-shirts I’d put on when I’d gotten back from classes so I didn’t bother to grab a robe as I rushed out into the living area of the suite.
Marcus was already at the door. Pulling it open just enough to see out, I watched as his shoulders lost the tension that had been radiating off him and he stepped back, opening the door all the way as he shook his head. Curious as to who could be showing up there at—I glanced at the clock on the wall—two thirty-six in the morning, I moved closer to the door.
The guy who walked into the living room had my breath catching in my throat but a small cry left me despite it. Harris’s aquamarine eyes ran over the room, looking wild and dangerous until they landed on me. “You haven’t picked up your phone all damn day, Lu. I’ve been losing my fucking mind.”
The surprise was starting to fade, to be replaced with the sting of tears as they filled my eyes. I opened my mouth to tell him I was so glad to see him. To ask why he was there. Anything. But nothing would come out.
Marcus shut and locked the door. “Night, Lucy,” he grumbled over his shoulder as he headed back toward his room.
I couldn’t even repeat the sentiment as I just stood there, rooted to the spot, letting my eyes feast on the sight of the only person I wanted to see right then. I wrapped my arms around my middle, only to have the newest cut on my wrist twinge, reminding me of the shameful thing I’d done just a few hours earlier.
As soon as the door closed behind Marcus, Harris moved, his large steps eating up the distance between us until I was in his arms and he was holding on to me like he never wanted to let go. “What’s wrong?” he demanded in a rough whisper. “Why wouldn’t you pick up the phone?”
“Be-because I knew I would cry, and I didn’t want to add more stress to your plate,” I confessed in a shaky voice.
“And you thought not hearing from you at all made that any easier?” He didn’t sound angry as his arms tightened around me and he lowered his head to kiss a trail from my temple to the corner of my mouth. “I’ve been losing my mind thinking something had happened. I jumped on the first plane I could get and came straight here.”
“I-I-I’d say I’m sorry, but you’re here and I couldn’t be sorry if my life depended on it.” I leaned into him, breathing in deep so that my lungs were full of only the scent of him. I wanted to bottle that scent so I never had to be without it. “I…I’ve miss you so much,” I sobbed, unable to hold it back a moment longer.
All
the tension seemed to fade from his body and his arms tightened around me. Lifting me into his arms, he glanced around. “Which way to your room?” I pointed toward my closed bedroom door and he wasted no time carrying me inside.
Using his foot to close the door behind us, he paused only long enough to lock the door before turning toward the bed. When he stopped and frowned down at my bed, I followed his gaze and grimaced when I saw the mess of books and notes spread around everywhere. With a deep chuckle, he sat me in the chair by my desk and then cleaned off the bed.
“I see you’ve been hard at work, sweetness.” He set the stack of books and notes on my desk, then scooped me back up into his arms.
I cupped his face in my hands, noting the beard and realized that he hadn’t shaved in several days. “So have you,” I said softly, tracing the scruff over the dimple in his right cheek and then the left. “You look exhausted. Is everything going okay with the club?”
“The club is fine. I’ve already gotten the York situation handled and over with. I haven’t slept well since I left you, though. It’s hard to fall asleep when I don’t have you in bed beside me.” He lowered his head and nuzzled my ear with his nose. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too.”
“Still love me?”
My eyes widened. “You’re an idiot. I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing.”
“Thank God,” he whispered and slowly lowered me onto my bed. Kicking off his shoes, he followed me down, wrapping his warm body around mine and laying his head on my pillow. “I want to make love to you right now, but I think I need to hold you more.”
“So hold me.” I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest. “Hold me and never let go.”
Chapter 20
Harris
I slept peacefully for the first time in a month that night.
I’d been working my ass off handling all the shit that Peyton had stirred up and had thankfully avoided the bad publicity of a lawsuit from Greg York. It had helped, of course, having the proof from the many cameras throughout my club that had caught York being just as antagonistic to the two guys who had jumped him as they had been to him. He’d gotten in a few good hits of his own, and once my lawyer had convinced him that the jail time he could face should the other guys press their own charges against him for throwing the first punch, he’d dropped all legal actions against First Bass.
That had taken up most of my time over the last four weeks, but it hadn’t been enough to distract me from missing Lucy. The highlight of my days had been getting to talk to her, so when she hadn’t picked up her phone at all the day before, I’d lost my mind. I didn’t know what was going on with her. Was she pissed at me? Had I done something to upset or hurt her? Was she okay?
I hadn’t known and I’d jumped on the first plane to D.C., not even caring that I’d left First Bass in the middle of the Friday night crowd with only Nate to take over. I knew Nate could handle it, but even if he couldn’t it wouldn’t have mattered. First Bass would always come second to Lucy.
Always.
Now, as I savored waking up with her tucked so close to me and sleeping so soundly, I took my time letting my eyes feast on every single part of her. Her thick, curly hair was rumpled and had fallen half into her face. I carefully pushed it back, wanting to see her beautiful face. She had the slightest dusting of freckles across her nose from all the sun we’d gotten while at the beach and in Orlando. I took my time counting each one of them before moving lower.
She was wearing one of my old shirts that I’d left her as well as a pair of old running shorts. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and I could see that her nipples were already beaded into little diamonds even in her sleep. I wanted to wake her up by licking those pretty nipples. Wanted to take my time and taste every part of her. Unable to not touch her, I lifted a hand and skimmed my fingers from her shoulder to her wrist, trying to fight the need to touch other places.
Reaching her wrist, I felt the familiar leather of her bracelet and slowly started unsnapping it. I hadn’t seen the ink that matched my own in forever and I wanted to trace my fingers over it. My own tattoo had brought me a little peace during my time without her. Knowing that she had the same ink meant we would always be connected through it.
Carefully pulling the bracelet off, I was surprised to find a Band-Aid. Concerned and more than a little curious, I slowly turned her wrist over. The room was dim from the sun trying to shine through the half-closed blinds, but it was enough to make out the tattoo.
Or what was left of it.
My stomach roiled with nausea as I counted the little scars on her wrist and then traced over the angry-looking puckered one that was thicker and longer than the others. At first I couldn’t make sense of what I was looking at, but slowly realization started to dawn on me and my blood turned ice cold.
I didn’t want to admit that what I was seeing and thinking were true, but it was hard not to believe it when the truth was so blaringly obvious.
My head started to spin as dread filled me to my bones.
Had Lucy really been hurting herself?
I knew it was a possibility but prayed it wasn’t the truth. I’d always thought Lucy was the strongest person I’d ever known. Even with all the things she’d been through with her biological father I’d thought she had learned to cope. She’d gone to a therapist and I’d been there for her to talk to whenever she needed me. She didn’t need to harm herself.
Just thinking of her doing that to herself, being so lost in her pain that she needed to resort to that kind of release, was like being punched in the chest. I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to admit it was even a possibility.
But even as I tried to deny it, my gut was yelling at me that it was the reality.
My thumb skimmed over the puckered flesh and as I looked closer I saw what could only be the marks from stitches.
Stitches.
Lucy sighed in her sleep and shifted beside me, but I didn’t release her wrist. Her eyes slowly fluttered open and she smiled up at me so happily that it broke my heart. How could my happy girl do this to herself?
But she hadn’t been happy months ago, had she? I’d sent her away. I’d hurt her.
Seeing the look on my face, she started to open her mouth, but quickly snapped it closed when she realized what I was doing. She sat up in bed, trying to pull her arm free, but I couldn’t let her go. If I did, she would hide and deny it, and even though I wanted to deny it myself, I couldn’t let that happen.
“What is this?” I tried to keep my voice quiet and calm, but it shook a little as I forced her to hold my gaze. “What are these scars from, Lucy?”
I saw the guilt and shame that flashed in her eyes before she lowered her lashes, effectively locking me out. “They’re nothing,” she said in a voice completely devoid of all emotion.
“Nothing.” I nodded and reached for the Band-Aid. Before she could stop me, I pulled it off, exposing a fresh cut that was still trying to bleed. “When did you do this?” She didn’t answer, and I tightened my hold on her wrist just enough to make her know I wasn’t going to drop this. “When?”
Her chin lowered and she closed her eyes tightly. “Last night,” she whispered in a voice that sounded nothing like my Lucy. “I…I tried not to, but…” She shrugged. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
If I had been standing, I knew I would have fallen to my knees at her answer.
Yesterday.
“Why?”
“I…” She broke off, swallowed hard several times, and tried again. “I couldn’t breathe. Missing you, wanting to be home with you…It all became too much. I just needed to breathe. This…I-It helps.”
Tears burned my throat, but I couldn’t let them fill my eyes. I needed to keep a clear head while I tried to figure this all out. “Have you been doing this long?” She didn’t answer. “Did it start after January?” Had
I caused this? Was our breakup all those months ago what had triggered this need to harm herself?
Still she remained quiet, but I could tell from the set of her shoulders that there was more to this than just what had happened with Tessa and the ensuing aftermath. “Lucy… please, talk to me. I need to understand what and why…”
A single tear fell from her closed lashes and spilled onto her cheek. “It started when I was twelve,” she confessed, completely knocking the air out of my chest.
Christ, how had I never suspected?
Six years.
Six fucking years she had been doing this to herself and no one had known? I knew if her parents had known she would have gotten help by now. Jesse and Layla wouldn’t have allowed this to continue. Her arm wouldn’t have been all scarred up…
But her arm hadn’t been scarred up when we’d gotten the matching ink. I’d never seen any marks on her body that would even suggest that she was self-harming. Not one little scratch.
“Where else, Lu?” I asked, still trying to keep my voice calm, but failing. Fuck, I was terrified. I couldn’t help her if I didn’t know all of it. “Where are the other scars?”
Slowly, she lifted her legs and when she showed me the bottom of her feet, I wasn’t able to hold the tears back a second longer. Dear God. All those little scars. Some on her heels, a few on the balls of her feet, but the majority were under her toes. Seeing those scars scared the living fuck out of me.
She could have really hurt herself. What if she’d killed herself? What if she’d gone too deep and hit something important and I had lost her? Fuck, what if the next time she did something like this, it took her away from me forever?
“I know I must disgust you,” she spoke in a voice choked with her own tears. “I’ve tried to stop so many times…but I can’t seem to help myself. Things get so intense and I have to. I-I understand if you don’t…if you can’t…” A sob broke free and she hung her head in shame. “I’d understand.”