A Cut so Deep (Thornes & Roses Book 1)

by Dani René

  The Past

  My mother’s angry. I watch her pace back and forth, her body rigid at my outburst. I hate being here, I never wanted to go to the stupid casting, but she insisted. I tried, I really did, but I just couldn’t face those people prodding and poking at me.

  Four faces, four sets of eyes were on me, watching me intently. They wanted me to perform like a dancing monkey, and I hated every moment. My anxiety curled slowly in my gut, twisting it painfully. My stomach tightened into a knot, it stole my breath, and that’s when I started hyperventilating.

  Nobody understands.

  They all thought I was some crazy daughter of a well-loved actress, throwing a hissy fit. But I’m not. I’m old enough to know when I’m uncomfortable. So, instead of opening my mouth and telling them, choking out the words, I couldn’t form any, so I ran. Right out of the room.

  Why can’t my mother understand?

  “This is going to make me look like an idiot to the people I have to work with,” she finally speaks. “Do you know how much you’ve embarrassed me?” Finally, she stops pacing, her glower on me makes me shrink back. “Sixteen! You’re a fucking teenager, and you can’t even open your goddamned mouth!” Her voice bounces off the walls of my bedroom, the sound burying itself in my mind; the words, filled with poison, slowly burrowing under my skin.

  Every time she’s ever insulted me, shouted at me and been angry at me feels like it’s coming to the forefront and slowly rising up to the surface of my skin.

  Sweat dots my arms, the nape of my neck. My stomach is aching, but I know if I move now, she’ll only laugh at me, tell me I’m overreacting.

  “I don’t know how I got lumped with you as a daughter.” Ice fills my veins, and I want to respond and tell her I don’t know either. But I don’t because it will only make her angrier.

  She turns around, looking at my bedroom. My haven. I’m almost sure she wants to smash everything within reach, but she doesn’t.

  “You’ll stay in here for the next two days to think about what you’ve done. I’ll have your food brought to you.” She spins on her designer four-inch heel and leaves the room.

  I’m getting so used to people leaving me, that watching someone’s retreating form is no longer scary, it’s welcomed.

  Pushing to my feet, I race into my bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me. Leaning against the cool wooden surface, I close my eyes as the tears slowly trickle down my cheeks.

  My hands shake as I try to calm down, but I know I won’t be able to until I’ve opened the box. My feet carry me to the cupboard where I know I’ll find what I need. My stomach coils with the promise of a panic attack. My breathing comes in short spurts of rushed expelled air.

  With trembling fingers, I pull open the cabinet door and find the small box that’s been my salvation, and I can almost breathe again. Flicking the lid, I pull out what I need and slide to the floor. My head falls back against the cupboard as I hold onto the box. Inside, I find what I need. Pulling my shorts up to the crease of my leg, where my panty line is visible at my hip, I sit crossed-legged and find a spot on my inner thigh.

  I blink back the tears that fall. My body is shaking, but I know the moment I cut into my porcelain flesh, it will all be okay. My fingers shake as I hold onto the metal object. Gently, I press the silver blade to my skin and push harder, until I feel the release shooting through me.

  The tightness in my muscles ease. Coiled anxiety which was a heavy looming figure racing behind me, ready to snatch me in its claws, dissipates. The dark cloud that felt like a storm hanging over me disappears as the sting skitters through me. The sky is no longer dark, the soft blue appears, and my lungs don’t feel like I’ve run a marathon, they easily pull in air.

  I watch my blood trickle from the cut, the small wound opening, and the pain and heartache from today spills along with the crimson to the floor. It’s only a small cut, one that will heal quickly. I’ve never made bigger incisions because I was afraid I’d be really hurt.

  When I read horror stories of girls who took it too far, who craved it so much they would cut longer, deeper, I focused myself on never going down that road. As much as it helps me clear my mind of worry and fear, I’ve scared myself into the realization that this could be fatal. And that has ensured I’m always careful.

  Blood coats my fingers, but the freedom feels like flying. It’s what I imagined an orgasm to feel like. Like tipping over the edge and wings emerging behind you, keeping you up in the air while you soar.

  It’s the only way I can describe it.

  Leaning my head back on the cabinet doors, I smile up at the ceiling, as I lift my fingers to my lips and taste the metallic flavor. I’m so broken, so fucked up from the way my body craves this, I doubt I’ll ever have a normal life.

  I can finally breathe.

  The knot in my stomach is gone.

  And I can happily stay in my bedroom without the anxiety hitting me again. My mother will never have to know what I’ve just done. Not that she’d care.

  I know she flies out of the country in a day or two, so I’ll be alone with my thoughts. I smile as I lean back against the wooden surface and close my eyes. I’m no longer twisted up inside. When I first started doing this, cutting, I went online, read about others who’ve done it. They explained how it felt to them, the suffocation of anxiety lifting the moment they made the incision. Some even mentioned it felt good, as if they were drunk. I don’t know what that’s like, but the relief is real, it’s a force that holds me close like a warm blanket on a cold night.

  I push up, standing at the sink and rinsing my leg. I tidy up the mess I made and go into my bedroom. On the nightstand, I find my cell phone and tap out a message to Isaac. He’s been my tutor for three months, and even though we haven’t done anything, his messages, along with the stinging on my inner thigh, have offered me a calm in the storm.

  I smile when his response comes back—a photo of him in his boxer briefs, and a message, thinking about those pretty eyes.

  I breathe deeply, sliding under the covers and snaking my hands between my thighs. Time to find another release.

  6

  Nesrin

  Present Day

  Last night was like a scene out of a family sitcom. Actually, more like a comedy of horrors. I wanted to disappear so many times. But I couldn’t. When I finally slid under the covers last night, I was too tired to think about anything other than dreaming. And then, even in my sleep, blue eyes stared back at me. It was as if Damien was haunting me.

  Sliding out of bed, I pad into the bathroom. The sun is just rising, bathing the room in a soft pinkish glow. I pull open the cabinet and find what I’m looking for. My muscles are stiff when I settle on the lid of the toilet. I haven’t turned to this for two long weeks, but after yesterday’s fiasco, I need it.

  My heart thuds against my chest at the reminder of what happened. The images of seeing Damien getting a blow job from some random redhead. The thoughts of sitting with him in the car today have my nerves shot to hell.

  The first time I did this, I was young. I recall the release so clearly. It was as if it was yesterday. I had accidentally cut myself on a broken glass after hearing my father screaming at my mother, and mom, in turn, decided to smash his whiskey decanter all over his office floor.

  My anxiety spiked. At the time, I didn’t know what the feeling was, all I knew was that I needed to scream, but if I did, I’d only draw attention to myself, so instead, I crushed the fragile glass I’d been holding. My fingers had squeezed so hard that it shattered, slicing my hand open. The moment I saw the blood, I felt like I could breathe again. It was as if the world was no longer blurry, it was peaceful. When I was younger, I just knew it eased the ache in my body, it lifted the tension and pain, but now, it’s different.

  I pick up the sleek, silver blade. It’s small, thin, and inconspicuous. Once, my mother found my box, she rummaged through the bandages and the Band-Aids, and she found the blades. At first, she
went on a rampage, screaming at me, and then she broke down. I had never seen my mother cry, but that day, she did. I promised her that I’d be okay. It was the first and last time she acknowledged what she found. The days after, she ignored me, as if she never knew what I did.

  After a couple of weeks, she sent me to therapy, not wanting to deal with it herself. I spoke to a stranger about my feelings, but nothing worked. The only thing that helped was the metal biting into the smooth, tanned flesh of my inner thighs.

  I hate this.

  But I don’t.

  It’s a release that I never thought I could ever feel because nothing that was normal worked. Therapy. Medication. Even just focusing on hobbies didn’t help me.

  A cut was the only solace I found.

  A harsh knock on the door sounds like a warning alarm in my bedroom. I go to it, opening it up, to find my mother smiling at me like the world is perfect. Her happiness makes her glow, and I wish that she was like this all the time. But I know it’s a fleeting moment in time.

  “We’re getting ready to leave,” she tells me, before pulling me into her arms as if we were always close and loving. Her affection is so foreign, it takes me a moment to hug her back.

  “I hope you have fun,” I whisper, still confused at her sudden love for me. She doesn’t say anything; she just holds me.

  When we finally break apart, she smiles at me, before telling me, “I hope you enjoy Thorne Haven. I hear it’s beautiful. And the manor is just stunning.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure I will like it.”

  “And behave for the boys, they’ll be looking after you.” Her voice is stern, annoying, because I’m no longer a child. I’m eighteen, all grown up and ready to take on the world.

  “Mom, just go,” I tell her, hoping she’ll stop this strange behavior. It’s been so long since she’s paid me any attention without insults, it’s disconcerting.

  “I just want you to show them that you were brought up with class.” Her voice lowers to a whisper. “And no boys, school should be your focus. Make sure you’re ready to choose your major by the time we’re back. If you want to move to England and go to Oxford, like your dad did, then you can do that as well. I just don’t want my daughter falling pregnant with some misfit’s child.” She doesn’t say it, but I know she wanted to say, like I did. All my life I’ve heard about her finding out she was pregnant with me, which set her career back by a couple of years. And, all the while, I knew I was a mistake she didn’t want.

  “Hey, little sis,” Finn saunters by, his gaze raking over my silky sleep shorts and tank top before he arches a dark brow. “We’re leaving in an hour, best be ready, Damien hates waiting.”

  “I’ll be there,” I respond, with a smile. The thought of sitting in a car with the three guys for so long has me on edge.

  “Have fun,” Mother tells me, before planting a kiss on my forehead. Once I’m alone, I’m able to breathe. It’s apparently going to be a long drive to Thorne Haven. We can’t fly because they don’t have an airstrip in the town. And Damien doesn’t want to leave his precious car here, so it looks like a road trip is in the cards.

  I guess it’s time to face my three stepbrothers.

  7

  Damien

  The moment the engine roars to life, I put my foot on the gas, and we head down the driveway and out onto the road. I’m hyperaware that she’s in my car, right behind the passenger seat. It’s almost as if I can feel her looking at me, watching me. I don’t turn; I focus on the road, but it’s difficult.

  Cass reaches for the radio, flicking it on to find something to listen to. I know he’s going to end up linking his iPhone to the stereo, but I leave him to it. At least his taste in music isn’t bad.

  If it was Finn, I’d lose my shit. Sometimes, our youngest brother can drive us crazy with the tunes he has blaring from his bedroom. Flicking my gaze in the rearview mirror, I find golden eyes staring back at me. She doesn’t act shy; instead, she holds my gaze.

  I can’t help but smile. I don’t mind her shyness, but it’s her feisty nature that seems to appear every now and then, which intrigues me.

  “Are you looking forward to your stay in Thorne Haven?” Finn questions her, and I can’t help but keep my ears pricked for her response.

  “Yes, I’ve lived in LA my whole life, even though I hated it. So, I’m excited to see someplace new.”

  “Why would you hate LA? It’s a fucking amazing city,” Finn tells her.

  I don’t hear her respond yet, but I have a feeling she’s just shrugged him off. “I don’t know, I just don’t like crowds.”

  Finn chuckles. “Then you’ll love Thorne Haven, there’s fuck all going on there.”

  “Except for the parties,” Cass reminds him, in a sober tone.

  Yes, the parties in our hometown are infamous around the area, bringing university students from all over the place. Even though we’re secluded within a large forest, we’re well-known around the schools from neighboring towns.

  “I don’t really do parties,” Nesrin tells us. “I mean, I just don’t like crowds in general, and, normally, parties give me anxiety.”

  “Don’t worry, little sis,” Finn tells her. “We’ll keep you safe. Damien is definitely bodyguard material.” He slaps his hand on the back of my seat, and I want to pull over and punch him the fuck out. Sometimes, my brother can be an asshole. More so than I am.

  “I think you’ll like it there,” Cassian says once his phone is connected, and a playlist comes through the speakers. The somber melodies seem to lull everyone into silence, but I don’t complain. It’s easier than having everyone talking all at once. Even though I want to learn more about Nesrin, I allow it to slide for now. Being the eldest, I’ve always taken the lead when Bradford isn’t home, and this time isn’t any different; our little sister will learn that soon enough.

  Five hours in, and I’m in the passenger seat with Cassian driving. Leaning back in the chair, I close my eyes and try to get some shut-eye. But my ears are attentive when Cass starts questioning our stepsister.

  “So, tell us more about you? Did you ever want to get into acting like your mother?”

  A sigh comes from right behind me. “No. Even though she insisted I go to castings, I never found a love for it like she had.” There’s an inflection in her voice, which has me glancing at Cass. His gaze quickly locks on mine, before turning back to the road, and I know he heard it as well.

  “What about your dad?”

  “He… He left when I was young. My mom and dad fought a lot. Things that didn’t make sense to me seemed to be a daily argument. There were small things, at first, like who did the washing up, or why weren’t my dad’s shirts ironed.” There’s a waterfall of pain dripping from her words. “Then, one night, they had a huge falling out. I never found out what it was about; she never wanted to tell me.”

  “And you haven’t seen your dad since?” Finn asks, shock clear in his voice.

  “No.” One word filled with so much pain, I feel it right down to my gut. I know how she feels. The heartbreak of a parent walking out sticks with you. My mind goes back to that night when my mother did the same thing.

  Even though the sun’s shining through the windows, our folks are screaming at each other. Thankfully, Finn’s still asleep, and Cassian’s in his bedroom. I don’t want them to see this. I don’t want them to witness the fight. Glass crashes from the living room, but I can’t see what’s happening.

  “I’m done with this, Bradford,” my mother’s voice filters up to me, “I can’t love you anymore. It hurts far too much.”

  “If you can’t love me, then love the boys.”

  “I’ve met someone,” she says suddenly, and another crash sounds up toward me, causing me to jump. My stomach is in knots. “I love him.”

  “You are not capable of love if you can leave your sons like this. You’re nothing but a fucking whore running around and opening your legs for every man you see.” My father’s words are vile, fi
lled with anger, and I realize he’s trying to hurt her. I’ve never heard him speak to my mother like this.

  “If that’s what you believe, so be it.”

  “If you walk out of this house, you’re not coming back. You will never have contact with the boys. They won’t know you.”

  “They already know me. They also know what an evil bastard you are.” More venom is spat between them. “They will always be my boys.”

  “Like fuck they will. Don’t you ever try to return. Our love is broken, there’s nothing that can bring it back. You’ve annihilated the trust between us. If you try to contact them at any point, I’ll end you.”

  My mother laughs, shock lacing the sound. “You don’t have it in you to kill me, Bradford, you love me too much.”

  “The love I had for you is gone. I always knew that it was a wasted emotion, even when you begged and pleaded for me to say it to you.”

  My lungs struggle to pull in air. They always seemed so happy. They played the part well because I would never have believed they never loved each other.

  “Love is nothing more than a fool’s errand. Get out of my house if you want to leave, but remember, they’re my sons, not yours.”

  My mother walked out that night. She didn’t return, and she never once tried to contact us. Not even when I hit eighteen and became an adult. I never tried to find her either. She was the reason our father turned into a tyrant, and I didn’t want to allow her the decency of knowing me.

  Cassian and Finn broke down the next morning, finding our mother gone, but I didn’t. I knew what she did to our dad, and as much as I can’t stand the asshole, I know his heart broke when she left.

  Hence the fact that love is off the cards for me. It’s a stupid fucking emotion that only gets you broken.