by Evie Rose
After a while the cutting is not enough. You get used to it, immune so to speak. It doesn’t affect you anymore, or cause the distraction you desire. So you move on to bigger things, more dangerous things. Even though I’m pretty sure she isn’t trying to off herself, accidents happen, tragic accidents that will forever affect everybody around you, and I should know.
Her eyes dart everywhere, and she shifts from foot to foot appearing flighty. “Please don't run from me. Let me help.” As she tries to explain to me that I don't understand I take her hand and place it on my left wrist. I watch her pupils go wide as she discovers the jagged white scars that are still there. “I understand, sweetheart.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, and it’s like staring into a mirror. Both sets contain the same deep anguish.
In the past, cutting was my escape. It’s a place I know well, I was on suicide watch a long time after the death of my family. The foster home I was in wouldn’t even let me take a piss without watching over me.
Eventually, I learnt to just say what the shrink wanted to hear. So I could get the privacy I wanted, the privacy I needed, to end the torture I was going through. In the end, I didn’t have what it took. Just like I wasn’t man enough to claim responsibility for the fire, I wasn’t brave enough to take my own life either, to send myself to hell, like I deserved. Not for lack of trying, though.
I knew exactly where I had to slide the blade across my wrist to cause the ultimate damage. But I convinced myself I needed to practice first, before I went for the money shot, so I wouldn’t fuck it up. During several run throughs in preparation for the main event, I deluded myself into thinking that the pain I was causing myself was warranted. I thought that I should suffer through it some more. Soon the burning sensation as I sliced myself open was all I could concentrate on, it blocked out all the terrible thoughts and became my escape.
Where Roxi is now, I know. I’ve been there.
“Jeeze Vicki, get off my case, it’s nothing.” I’m pissed I have to justify everything in my life. I don’t care that her suspicions are dead on, she can get fucked. She’s not my mum, just my foster parent. If cutting my arm makes me feel better, why can’t they just let me have this one freaking thing? Pretend my lies aren’t full of shit and go on ignoring me, like all the other people who do this gig for the money? I’ve had foster parents like that before. Why did I have to be left with a pair that is so bloody nosey? “I hurt my arm during basketball practice. The bandage is to protect my wrist.”
“Okay, let me see your injured wrist then. Maybe we should ice it.” She follows closely, as I go straight to my room. I walk through the door and have just enough time to slam it closed behind me, flicking the lock before she gets to the threshold.
“No. It’s fine.” I turn up my music and sit on the edge of my bed. My legs bounce full of anxious energy. It speeds through my body so fast I can’t think straight. I need to let it out. My hands shake as I reach for the book on my nightstand, the book that conceals my secret stash of razor blades. I fear the pain, but crave it at the same time.
The fire that scorches across my skin as I cut deep, consumes me. All of the panic that was building up, seeps out of me like poison. Just like an addict, after getting a hit, everything becomes peaceful and serene once more, but not for long. It’s already escalating, restless thoughts accumulating, waiting for my next fix. The time in between each cut is getting closer and closer together. When it isn’t enough, what will happen?
How many times has Roxi done this? How much worse will it get? It won’t at all, if I can help it. In the end, it was people I hardly knew that were able to get through to me. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger about your problems than someone you know. You still feel ashamed, but at the end of the day you never have to see the person you confide in again, if you don’t want to.
“Whatever you’re going through, there’s a way to fix it.” It wasn’t the case for me, but it has to be for her. I won’t believe otherwise. I won’t stand on the sidelines and watch this situation play out again. I’ve seen it once before, when I was younger. I tried and tried to stop it, but I failed. Dad’s fists petrified the living day lights out of me. I felt like a traitor for not stepping in to save Mum from the same fate. I was the worst son in the world. Trent and I just hid and got stoned, got away from reality. We gave up trying to help, when it wasn’t getting us anywhere. We realised our attempts were actually making things more difficult for Mum.
“Cutting doesn’t help to solve your problems. It only makes you forget them temporarily. Trust me. I’ve tried anything and everything as a means of escape – cutting, drinking, prescription drugs, and smoking weed. It’s like trying to put a Band-Aid over a broken arm. It makes what you are going through, a lot more severe.”
“You two boys remember, out of sight, out of mind. You just stay in your room and let your mumma handle things. Or better yet, go out with your friends. Have some fun for once. There’s no reason for your father to be upset. The house is clean. Dinner is ready to be served. Everything will be fine here.”
What I’m witnessing is all too similar, to what I have seen before.
I can tell by the way Roxi avoids eye contact and fidgets with the hem of her sweatshirt, which she’s not taking in anything I’m saying. She thinks she has it all figured out, or is too embarrassed and proud to reach out for help.
“Look, I spoke to someone on the phone yesterday about my situation. I need more time to organize where Ricky and I are going to go, and how to get there safely. I can go home tonight, everything will be fine.”
Those words again, only it wasn’t fine, we should have never left that night.
I stumble through the door, Trent by my side. The house is dark, cloaked in a heavy blanket. Hiding the signs. Our reaction times are slow, the haze of what we got up to tonight lingering, keeping everything surreal. By the time the warning bells get through, it’s too late. Mum’s whimpers on the kitchen floor, pull us out of our fog. Our footsteps are loud against the tiles to get to her. I slide in something wet on the floor.
“Run boys!” Her voice is a strangled groan. It registers moments before something hard smacks against the side of my face. Pain ricochets through my head, as I lose my balance and fall to the ground, a second thump beside me. My body wants to panic, but my mind won’t allow it, because the drugs still have a hold on me. I am trapped, stuck in my own head.
My father turns on the light in the kitchen and I see him looming over us with his menacing glare, with his shovel in hand, and blood pooled on the floor.
“You boys too good to stay home and have dinner with your family now? You ashamed of me?” He presses the cold metal down on my throat. Everything was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be stable and predictable tonight. He presses down harder, restricting my airflow and I black out.
He was like a ticking time bomb. We never knew what was going to set him off. There was only one guarantee, expect an explosion at any given time.
I place my hand under her chin, and raise her head to look at me. Vulnerability shines in her eyes. They are clear and uncertain. “Everything won’t be okay, Roxi. Not if you go home, and back to him. It’s already not okay. You have to take your son and get out of there. I know you don’t know me very well, but I’ve been through what you’re going through. There’s no shame in reaching out for help. It’s the complete opposite, it’s courageous, and it’s brave. You have the strength, Roxi. I’ve seen you throw a mean Frisbee.” She smiles at my attempt to lighten the seriousness of our conversation, my own lips rising at the corners in response. “Let me help you to get away from him, and away from danger.”
“I’ve been trying to figure a safe way out,” she confides. “I don’t want to take Ricky to a shelter, but I have nowhere else to go. I’m scared, what if they can’t protect us? What if he finds us there?” Her voice breaks, leading me to believe that she is deathly afraid of him.
I gently trail my finge
rs next to the bruises down her neck. “Once is bad enough. In some cases it only takes one time. You need to get away from him now.”
The mirror image I’m looking into, cracks and shatters completely, and I see right into her soul, but she is scared to step off that cliff. I hold out my hand and offer her a bridge. “Move in with me temporarily, until you can get on your own feet. You and your son are both welcome, as long as you need. I’ll protect you. Let me be the friend you need.” It seems excessive for someone I’ve only known a few weeks, but extreme circumstances call for significant actions.
This feels like my chance, my opportunity to save a family after destroying mine. What I did was just as bad as the violence my father dealt out. I need to make my wrong right, and this is the only way I know how.
“I hardly know you,” she voices my exact thoughts.
“I’ve got to be a safer option than him.”
“But what if Joseph somehow still gains the rights to see Ricky? I won’t be there to watch over him.” I see the hope trying to escape, but the trepidation holding it down. Molten honey flickers through the dull brown of her irises, and I want to be the person who creates more of that, the one who brings the colour back into her eyes and the smile back to her lips.
“There is no way he is getting near Ricky, not with the bruises he left on your neck. I’ll help you file a protection order.” At this, she finally takes my hand in hers and squeezes lightly.
“Are you sure?”
I squeeze back. “I’m positive.”
*****
All the memories from my past assault me. Guilt claws at my insides, makes me want to crawl out of my body and escape this never ending nightmare that repeatedly plays in my head. They mix with images of the bruises on Roxi’s neck, the cuts on her arms, and the fact that some asshole has been putting her through hell.
Anger from so long ago, that I’ve never fully dealt with, simmers just below the surface, threatening to explode. The extra running I just did on the way home was futile in the effort to calm me the fuck down.
Slamming the front door behind me, I head straight for the boxing gear on the back patio. My bare fists slam the bag, and then I put my full weight into my kicks. It's not nearly satisfying enough.
“Whoa. You’re gonna tear your hands to shreds. Glove up and I’ll hold the bag for you.” Jake walks over and motions to the rest of the gear on the table. I nod, not ready to talk. Just wanting to punch. To fight the demons inside, until thirty minutes later, when I’m finally exhausted enough to fall in a heap on the couch.
“Feel better?” Jake asks while passing me a water bottle. I unscrew the top and take greedy gulps, finishing it off in one go.
“Not particularly.” I wipe the sweat off my face with the bottom of my shirt and look back at him. He’s not forcing me to explain, but he knows something is wrong. I don’t show aggression very often. All problems in relation to what I went through in my youth, seem so small in comparison that they’ve never been worth getting angry about. Until now.
I’m not a big talker, but he needs to know we have a couple of new housemates before they arrive. “I met someone.”
His brow furrows in confusion. “All you do is run, sleep and work. Where in your days, did you find the time to get a girlfriend, and since when do you even want one?”
“It’s not like that, she’s just a friend. Well kind of, I only met her, a few of weeks ago.” There’s no way to phrase this to Jake without sounding like a total head case. How do I explain the connection I feel to her, in such a short amount of time? I barely understand it. I feel like I know her, I guess it’s the similarities in our lives. The crappy cards we’ve both been dealt. A hand I’ve never shown to Jake. He’s aware of the fire, but not the circumstances of my life before that. I have always kept that hidden. I never even confessed the real reasons behind my drug abuse to Jake, my shrink or anyone.
“Okay, so what did she do to piss you off so bad?” He asks, taking a drink from his own water bottle.
“It wasn't anything she did, more like her husband,” I confess, causing Jake to choke on the mouthful of drink he just took.
He quickly gains composure and narrows his eyes at me. “What the fuck possessed you to make friends with a married chick?”
If I’m being honest with myself I was sick of all the hook-ups, but I don’t want to admit that to him. Something about her drew her to me. Before I even knew what a dipshit her husband is, I couldn't stay away.
“Are you fucking her? Is her husband trying to give you a beat down? Should I be careful when I open the door?” He glances between me and the direction of the front entrance, as if the guy is going to come barrelling through at any moment.
“No, but I’m tempted to beat him senseless. He’s an abusive son of a bitch.”
Jake’s hands clench into fists at his sides, for as much smack as he talks about women, he isn't an asshole. He’s a stand-up guy, who’d be willing to help out a stranger in need.
I cut to the chase, “She’s moving in with us.”
“Good.” I knew Jake would be okay with me helping her out, and if he wasn’t, too bad. I own the house after all. I bought it with the life insurance my parents had.
“And her son,” I add.
Jake’s eyes go wide, but he doesn’t complain about a kid potentially running amuck through our house and changing our lifestyle. He’s more concerned about my sanity at this stage. “Wow, you sure you aren’t getting in over your head here? This is an awful lot to take on. Are you keen on her?”
“She’s drop dead gorgeous, but you know I don’t do relationships. She’s just a new friend in need. I’m helping her get back on her feet. That’s all. The last thing she wants is a fuck-buddy, when she’s got a kid and coming out of a disastrous marriage.” Only, I’m trying to convince myself all these things, just as much as him.
My phone rings and guessing it’s probably Roxi asking for directions, I practically jump over the back of the couch to get to it.
“If you say so buddy,” Jake laughs, as I glimpse at the screen and see Dex’s name.
Maybe I am in over my head, because I’ve sure as hell never been disappointed at not getting a call from a chick before.
Chapter Thirteen
“The sorrow which has no vent in tears may make other organs weep.” - Henry Maudsley
Roxi
After confiding in Luke, I felt some of the weight of my problems lift off my shoulders. I felt stronger, more capable, like I could actually pull off starting a new life. I wanted to fill my best friend in on what I was about to do. I didn’t feel like I needed her by my side, but I wanted her there. I never want to have to mislead her again. So I did something I almost never do, I called her and invited her over for coffee.
“So this is what your place looks like. It’s stunning.” Rachel looks around the room, taking it all in. The designer lounge suite, which is immensely uncomfortable but incredibly beautiful, top notch entertainment system, with a TV so big it covers most of the wall. Photos, where we all pose stiff and fake, false smiles plastered on our faces. She’s right, it’s absolutely stunning. Like a show room, with no warmth. I’d love to tack some of Ricky’s drawings on the wall, or leave my magazines all over the coffee table, anything to make the place more homely. Joseph would just criticize it was messy, though.
We’ve been friends a long time now, twelve years in fact. I’ve been in this particular house for six of those years and never once has Rachel seen it. I was always too worried she’d figure out what a fraud I was. That she’d see right through my perfect façade and know something was wrong. I’d always avoided bringing her anywhere near Joseph. Even if he was out, he could still come home at any moment. And if Rachel ever saw how he spoke to me now days, she wouldn’t be fooled in the slightest that I was happy with him.
“Thanks. You want a coffee?” Getting up, I put a pod in the machine, already knowing how she likes it.
I glance over my sho
ulder to see her walking towards me. “I’m taking that you didn’t invite me here to talk about your décor? Or about how well the cushions on the recliner match the colour pallet on the walls?”
As I reach for the coffee mugs, my hands slightly tremor at her implication, but she smiles warmly, weakening my resolve. She’s my friend. When others left she never did. She’s only ever shown me patience and understanding, and waited endless amounts of time until I was ready to come to her with my problems.
“They do complement each other perfectly.” I laugh to ease the tension I feel. Only it sounds a little wobbly. “Who am I kidding, it looks bloody terrible.” I burst into tears and it has nothing to do with what my house looks like.
“Oh honey.” Rachel rushes to my side and pulls me into a hug. My tears soak her shirt sleeve, but she stays right where she is until my eyes have run dry, which takes a while. Even then, silent sobs continue to rack my body, as I shake against her. Years of pent up loneliness and keeping everything hidden inside, is being released.
Rachel runs one hand through my hair and moves the other on my back in small circles. There’s no pressure to explain myself, just comfort. Complete solace. It’s easier to get the words out if I don’t look at her. I don’t want to see the shock register in her eyes, or the hurt that I didn’t trust her for support earlier. I keep my face against her shoulder as I speak. “I’m leaving Joseph.” It scares the crap out of me, but it’s exhilarating at the same time. As though saying the words out aloud makes me stronger, it takes me one-step closer to actually doing them. I breathe in deeply and revel in my admission. I can do this. The more I talk about it, the more I believe.
“I’m glad,” she states simply.
That’s all she has to say? I just delivered some earth shattering news. Where is the astonishment? The disbelief I was sure that was coming?
I pull back to look at her, more than a little confused. “Don’t you want to know why?”
“I already know why. Don’t think I haven’t realised how miserable you’ve been, Rox, it’s been killing me. I can’t even remember the last time your smile reached your eyes. The way your voice used to get all shrill when you were so excited and high on life, you could hardly contain it. That never happens anymore. He’s been slowly draining that old Roxi sparkle.”
