by TT Kove
Scarred Arms
a Souls of London short
TT Kove
Arctic Circle Press
Scarred Arms © 2019 by TT Kove
Published by Arctic Circle Press
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except for in the purpose of reviews.
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, place, or events is coincidental.
Scarred Arms is set in London, UK, and as such uses British English throughout.
Contents
About
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Afterword
Also by TT Kove
About the Author
About
Love makes us strong
I might not do well all the time, I might have times when I wish for death, but I don’t actually want to die. I’ve got so many people to live for, and that’s why I fight to live every single day.
Now it turns out it’s not just me who’s struggling. I knew Matt struggled, obviously, but I hadn’t realised it was this bad. I never imagined Matt was more like me than anyone realised. Guilt and shame overtake my emotionally unstable mind, and once again I resort to old means to try and dull the pain.
But I’m strong. That’s what everyone tells me. I’ve survived everything thrown my way so far. I’ll get through this too.
Chapter 1
Get to the hospital. That was all Damian had written in his text. He’d never sent one like it before, so I knew something was wrong. If something was wrong with Damian—no! I couldn’t think like that. Damian was fine, he always was, he was my rock. But that didn’t mean I felt calm. I rushed to the hospital in record time.
Damian was waiting outside for me, which made me feel relieved—because if he was up and about he must be fine—but it also made me wonder what was the real reason he’d wanted me there.
‘What’s wrong?’ I’d rushed so much I was out of breath when I reached him.
‘It’s Matt.’ He lifted his head. His face was stony, but his eyes seemed to burn with something I couldn’t decipher. ‘Come on.’
I twisted my hands together. ‘Is Matt here?’ What else could it be?
Damian only nodded as he briskly led me upstairs and through hospital corridors. When he finally stopped in front of a door, he tapped his hand against it so the door, which hadn’t been closed completely, opened.
I peeked in and saw Matt lying motionless on a trolley. Something twisted inside me. Like a knife to the gut. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘I had to sedate him.’
My eyes must be huge as I turned to him, but Damian’s expression didn’t change. Instead, he grabbed hold of my arm and hauled me into the room next to Matt’s, which was empty.
I hissed as I pulled away, cradling my arm close.
He stared at me. ‘You cut again?’
Shame flooded through me. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not that deep.’ I didn’t need stitches. That was only on the other arm. I’d been careful, but at the same time, I’d had to do it.
‘Dammit, Josh!’ He exploded—and it was so unexpected and so sudden I shrank back. He turned away from me, both hands grabbing hold of his hair and pulling.
‘Damian?’ I didn’t understand. Why was he angry with me? He was never angry. Why couldn’t he look at me? ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Tears I hadn’t even known were there spilt over.
‘Before I sedated Matt I had to roll up his sleeve, to get to the blood vessels in his elbow. You know what I found there?’
I shook my head, but as he was still standing with his back to me, he didn’t see it. ‘N-no.’
‘Cuts!’ He whirled around now, eyes flaring in anger or frustration or… something. ‘Exactly like on your arms, Josh! He’s cutting himself!’
I cradled my arms close at that, hunching in on myself. I felt like he was accusing me. Like this was my fault. Maybe it is? ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Would you stop apologising!’ He turned away again, hands back to tugging at his hair.
‘I don’t know what else to say.’ I took a step back. ‘Please. Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what? Frustrated? Feeling like a failure?’
‘Wh-why do you feel like that?’ I couldn’t keep up. I had no idea what he was on about. All I knew was that he was angry and it was directed at me.
‘Because, Josh!’ He faced me again. ‘He’s been living with us! I don’t know how long he’s been doing it to himself, but not once have I noticed anything. Not once.’
‘If he wanted to keep it a secret—’
‘I still should’ve noticed! I’m training to be a doctor and I live with you!’
I shrank further back. More tears spilt. ‘Damian, please…’ Don’t be like that. Don’t be angry with me. Please. I didn’t know what to do, how to make him calm again, how to make him himself again. He was angry with me, accusing me of something, I didn’t even know what.
He lifted his head, staring at me. Something changed in him, his shoulders dropped, his chest heaved a deep breath. ‘Caesar almost died today.’
I blinked. That had not been what I expected. ‘What?’
‘He had an epileptic seizure and he nearly died.’ Damian dragged a hand over his face. ‘And Matt… he freaked out. He was screaming and kicking and he couldn’t calm down, so I had to sedate him.’
Oh God. ‘Is he going to be okay? Caesar, I mean?’
Damian nodded quickly. ‘Yeah. Unless it happens again. He’s stable for now.’
‘And Matt?’
Now he shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Josh. I just don’t know.’
I went to him, uncertain how it would be received, but when he didn’t do anything I slid my arms around him. He leant into me, which instantly made me feel better. Maybe he wasn’t angry with me after all.
‘It feels like I’ve failed.’
‘Failed what?’ He wasn’t used to failing. Top grades all over in school, one of the best in his group of trainee doctors.
‘Failed as a guardian. Failed Matt.’
‘No, Damian, no. Don’t think like that.’ That’s what I was always told whenever I had self-destructive thoughts. But I couldn’t help but wonder the same. Had we failed Matt? Hadn’t we been good enough guardians, good enough support after he moved in with us? Hadn’t we pushed enough for him to go back to therapy after everything?
Cutting himself… Had I influenced that? I’d always been open about my struggles. Even more so once I switched from journaling to blogging about them. My blog wasn’t a secret. It was all there.
He was cutting himself three years ago. I remembered vividly catching him on his bed, with a razor tapping against his skin. But that wasn’t so bad. Only scratches really. I’d promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. And I hadn’t, because cutting had been a lifeline for me and if it was for him too… it was better than dying.
‘I’m going to sit with him until he wakes up. But when we get home, I want you to have a chat with him.’ His hands splayed over my shoulder-blades, not quite holding me tight, but not letting me move away either.
‘Me? Why?’ I was the last person who should be allowed to talk to anyone.
‘Because you cut too. And he knows that. Maybe it’ll be easier for him to talk to you.’
‘Okay.’ If Damian thought it was best, I would. I didn’t know what to say though. I didn’t know what good I could do for
Matt. I couldn’t tell him to stop cutting when cutting helped.
His arms slid further around me, hugging me tightly now. ‘I’m sorry I yelled at you.’
‘It’s okay.’ As long as he didn’t stay angry, as long as he still wanted me, I could take a bit of anger. He’d been so patient with me for all these years. He was allowed to let out some frustration once in a while. Especially when he was worried about his nephew, one of only two living relatives he had left.
‘It’s not. This isn’t your fault, so I shouldn’t take it out on you.’ He turned his head, lips brushing against my lobe and jawbone. ‘I’m going to go sit with him now. We’ll be home in a few hours.’
‘I’ll go home then.’ I pulled away with regret. ‘What should I tell Matilda?’
‘Nothing. I reckon Matt should tell her himself. And if he doesn’t want her to know… well, then that’s his choice. It’s not one we should make from him.’
I nodded, but my stomach churned. I wouldn’t be lying, I’d just be keeping it from her. It felt wrong though and if she were to ask where I’d been, I couldn’t lie. Still, Damian was right. Matt was eighteen, technically an adult, and he should choose who to tell and not.
‘I’ll see you later.’ He stepped in close to deliver a quick, chaste kiss to my lips.
‘Yeah.’
‘Don’t worry so much, Josh. It’ll be fine.’
If only.
I left the hospital feeling worse than I had when I entered. Matt cutting, Caesar almost dying, Matt’s reaction to it… How could I not worry?
I was half-asleep by the time I heard them come home. I’d laid down on the bed to relax, to doze a bit and hope that my brain would calm down. I heard murmurs, a pause, then another one.
Damian opened the bedroom door quietly. ‘Josh? You awake?’
‘Yeah.’ I pushed myself up and leant over to click on the lamp. ‘I took a nap.’
He closed the door after himself and sank down on the bed.
I scooted over to lean against his back, hoping I was of some comfort to him. ‘How is Matt?’
‘I don’t know. We talked when he woke up, but on the ride home, he didn’t say anything. Do you feel up to having that talk with him now?’
‘I guess. I don’t know what to say though.’ Talking about my own problems were easy in comparison. I’d done that for years, after all. But talking to someone so young, so fragile, who had lost so much… I didn’t know how much good I could do.
‘Just… I don’t know, Josh. Be there for him, try to slip in something about therapy. I wish he’d just go see someone. It would be so much easier for him. It is for you.’
‘Yeah.’ If I hadn’t had Vincent, I wouldn’t be doing as good. Though good was relative, considering I’d just had to be stitched up again only days ago. ‘Okay. I’ll go talk to him.’ I braced a hand on his shoulder as I heaved myself out of bed.
‘Good luck.’
I turned to look back at him. ‘Thanks. I’ll need it.’ Matt wasn’t known for being open. He’d flat out refused therapy after only going once after his dad died, and I didn’t hold out any hope for his stance on the matter having changed much since then.
I knocked tentatively on his bedroom door. ‘Matt? Can I come in?’
‘Y-yeah.’ His muffled voice came through the wood.
I entered, took quick stock of the room as I did so, and headed over to sit on his desk chair. Sitting on his bed felt a bit too intimate. It was something I did with Damian, but no one else. Even with Vincent, we kept a distance, sitting opposite each other in his office with a table in-between us.
‘I’m sorry about today,’ I offered lamely, but what else could I say? I was sorry, sorry about everything that had happened to him.
‘Yeah.’ He was sitting with his feet crossed, his duvet pooling in his lap.
‘How are you doing?’ He didn’t look so good, downcast and lost, almost.
‘Not so good.’ The honesty wasn’t surprising because considering what had happened, how could he be anything but not good?
‘I’m so sorry.’ I bent forward, my elbows resting on my knees. I saw his gaze slide down to my arms and I knew what he was thinking. My cuts, my scars, they were only hidden by a thin layer of fabric, but they were right there. ‘I’m so sorry you had to experience that, that you had to go through it. You didn’t deserve that.’
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘I reacted worse today than I did when my own dad died. What does that say about me?’
It surprised me. I hadn’t expected this.
‘You were in denial. Or at least that’s what Vincent said was most likely.’ I believed what Vincent told me. He’d helped me so much throughout the last eight years and I trusted him more than anyone else, except Damian and Mum.
He didn’t look too happy with me though. ‘You talk to your psychologist about me?’
‘Of course I do. I tell him everything and he helps me figure out what I feel about it, and help me make sense of it all.’ What would I have done without Vincent? ‘Maybe today, when you saw that he was crashing, maybe that’s when you realised it.’ What I was saying was a mix of Vincent’s words and my own studies.
‘Realised what?’
That was an easy answer. ‘That Ray’s never coming back.’
‘I’ve always known Dad wasn’t ever coming back.’ He frowned deeply.
How was I supposed to explain this in a way that made sense? All thoughts in my mind was a jumbled mess. ‘Yeah, but—you’ve been shut down ever since it happened, ever since he died. Today the feelings you’ve kept buried came back to the surface. You reacted very close to how Matilda reacted at the hospital back then, Damian told me. Crying, hysterical… Today you finally got to grieve, Matt.’
His eyes were wet and he blinked, which resulted in the wetness overflowing. ‘I didn’t cry once. Not the night they told me, not the days following, not the funeral—’ He covered his face in his hands now. ‘I’m the worst son ever.’
‘You’re not.’ I rolled the chair over to the side of the bed and put my hand on his upper arm, squeezing gently. Then I realised that perhaps squeezing his arms wasn’t such a good idea. Damian had only said he’d cut himself, but he hadn’t said how far up the cutting went. On me, both of my arms were a scarred mess, from shoulder to wrists.
‘I am! I cried more for a bloke I haven’t even known a week than I ever did for my own dad.’ He bent over, but he didn’t seem to react negatively to me squeezing his arm, so I kept on doing it. Maybe it would be of some comfort to him. I hoped, anyway.
‘You were in shock back then, Matt. Your dad—it happened so unexpectedly. It shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did, and no one ever saw it coming. Claire and Matilda grieved—you were in shock. Both reactions are just as normal, so you shouldn’t blame yourself like that, you shouldn’t feel so guilty.’ Vincent and I had had long talks about all the different types and stages of grief. I knew this, from personal perspectives. Damian and I hadn’t grieved the same, and neither had Matt or Matilda.
I left his arm for now and instead wrapped my arm around his shoulders in a hug. ‘What happened today, with Caesar… It was a traumatic experience. Everyone would’ve reacted. You reacted perhaps a bit more than most would’ve because you’ve lost someone before, Matt. You’ve been in shock and today that was blown apart by someone else you care about almost dying.’
He sniffled, and I knew he was still crying even if I couldn’t see his face. It was heartbreaking. Someone so young shouldn’t know so much grief, so much pain…
Time to get to the whole therapy-subject. ‘What we’ve been asking you ever since it happened, about going to therapy… We still think you should. You’ve been keeping everything locked up for so long, and the past two years haven’t been good years for you. So Matt, if you think it’s hard, therapy does help. It really does.’
‘No.’ His voice was forceful and he shook his head to emphasise it.
A sigh esca
ped me, I couldn’t help it. Some people were against therapy, while others, like me, found it to be a lifeline. I wished Matt could’ve seen it the same way. I wished therapy could give him the support it gave me.
‘Caesar’s fine. I’ll be fine.’ It was said with a voice thick with tears, but it was still just as forceful and final as his no.
‘If you change your mind, you know we’re always here.’ Even if he didn’t want to talk to a stranger, he could always talk to us. He hadn’t up to now, not about deep, personal stuff, but he could. If he wanted to.
He wasn’t receptive to anything else, and I hadn’t even gotten to the subject of cutting. But he was crying and I couldn’t get myself to put more on his shoulders. They were shaking enough as it was. So I left him there to cry in peace and returned to my own bedroom, where Damian was still sitting on the bed.
He lifted his head when I closed the door and leant back against it. ‘How’d it go?’
‘Don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘He feels guilty, he was crying. But he still doesn’t want therapy.’
‘What about the cutting?’
My teeth sunk down on my lower lip. ‘We didn’t get that far.’
Damian blinked. ‘But that’s serious.’
‘I know. But he was a mess, Damian. He was crying and feeling guilty and he was finally grieving, both for what happened to his bloke and for his dad. I couldn’t get myself to bring it up.’
Damian’s hands clenched into fists where they rested on his knees. ‘He needs help. Before he turns into—’ He shut himself up, but the unsaid you hung in the air between us.
I couldn’t blame him for not wanting Matt to end up like me. I didn’t want anyone to end up like me. Borderline personality disorder wasn’t something that just happened, thankfully, but my excessive cutting… anyone could end up cutting as much as I had, even without the diagnosis of BPD.
