“I don’t understand, Harley.” She said in a way that told me she understood she just wanted me to have meant something else than what she was thinking. Too bad it was exactly what she was thinking.
“Ember, I…I gave up.” I told her, shrugging my shoulders trying to downplay it. It was nothing to downplay; it was something I tried and failed not to think about every freaking day. She gave me the look. You know the ‘I’m sorry you tried you tried to kill yourself and I’m really uncomfortable talking about this’ look and it made me feel worse. Something else that would go in the self- help book about life after suicide attempt under what not to do after someone’s told you they tried to off themselves is not to give them the fucking ‘look’.
“Ember, it’s no big deal, like I said Deklan found me, so…” and cue hug, but this was different, tighter, like she was glad I had failed. She began muttering how sorry she was, how she’d failed me, how she wasn’t a good best friend. It was all weirdly weird, because this was Ember, nothing-rains-on-her-parade-Ember and to see her like this was disconcerting. I hugged her back though because the one thing she didn’t do was accuse me, ask me how I could do something like that. Not that Deklan has said anything like that to me, but sometimes I got the feeling he wanted to.
Over the next hour we talked more about my life with my mother, and how I hid behind my image until Deklan. “He is really intense yeah?” she asked timidly. She had no idea.
“Yeah, but it fits him. I mean I like it…him that way.” I didn’t want to diagnose why I liked how intense he was or how deep my feelings for him were because I knew what it would look like; he saved me so I had a hero’s crush but that wasn’t true. I think I was in love with him the same night I met him. It’s kind of like a book and how you knew that after the first chapter that you’re going to be hooked on it and love it. Deklan was that book for me.
“But you must feel that way about Matt too right?” I asked only to get the subject off me and Deklan. Shit, mistake.
“I should get home, clean up, and get dinner started before Matt gets home.” She got up quickly, and it didn’t slip my fuddled brain that she totally didn’t answer the question. I was focused on her leaving.
Shit, she was leaving. She was leaving, and Deklan wasn’t here; I would be alone. I quickly texted him and prayed he was close, I didn’t trust myself alone when the memories and emotions were hovering in the corner of my mind, waiting to take over at a second of weakness. Ember left with another hug and a promise to call me tomorrow and I waited.
Alone.
Deklan
(Papa Roach “Scars”)
I don’t know what people got out of going to a cemetery to visit someone who wasn’t fucking there, not really anyway. It was a dumb as shit thing people did to have something tangible to hang on to. Something to visit on birthdays and holidays with flowers and shit. Like them doing that made the person who was buried there happier. It was shit, but what the fuck was I doing?
Putting flowers on my Ma’s grave because I was a good son in her eyes. I didn’t stand there and talk to her headstone like a fucking lunatic though. She had a little granite bench, no doubt Royce’s doing, next to her headstone and, not wanting to walk back to my car, I sat. It was quiet in the cemetery; I had never been in one, but I’d thought it’d be more…night of the living dead-ish but it was…peaceful.
Fuck, I was in my feelings.
Ever since Harley came into my life, my feelings were all over the fucking place, and I was unsure how I felt about that. I was moody, cranky as shit, and tired of being gentle and nice where she was concerned. If I didn’t fuck her and fuck her hard, I was going to lose my shit. On everything.
I would tell her how pissed I was at her for pulling that shit she did with the pills. I’d tell her that she was selfish and cowardly to try and take the easy way out. Couldn’t she understand that I just got her in my life? I felt like she didn’t give a shit that I told her, fucking showed her from the rip that I had her before she tried to throw what we were becoming away.
I would tell her the reason that I was acting like a crazy muthafucker was because I had caught feelings for her, caught feelings hard.
But if I said all that, put all that out there like that, I wouldn’t be nice about it. In fact, I can guarantee I’d be a dick and she would get hurt. So, for now, I’d continue to be fucking water-colored until we got back home, and then I’d give her the business. She was too raw, too tightly wound to deal with shit the right way. I wanted to do some hero type shit and take care of all this shit for her so didn’t have to deal with it. But I was smart enough to know that nothing good came from avoiding shit.
“Deklan.” A voice cut through my thoughts.
Speaking of avoiding, fuck. I was home for less than a fucking hour, and already I had to deal with this, in a fucking cemetery of all places. Belatedly, it dawned on me that all the thinking I’d been doing while sitting there was really me talking to my Ma. Look at that, I’m a fucking lunatic too.
Royce looked the same as I’d last seen him; it was hard to tell though since my fist covered his face that time. But he also looked different, haggard. The polished look he always wore was gone and replaced with a rumpled version of him.
“You look like shit,” I observed; what kind of son would I be if I didn’t point out the obvious?
“Losing the women you love will do that to a man,” he said in a voice unlike anything I’ve heard from him, ever. And I might have felt some type of way about being a dick because he was clearly hurting. The love he had for my mother was never in question, and I hated to admit he was a great husband, always kissing on her and shit; he was just a fuck for a father.
Screw this; I refused to feel sorry for his ass. After all, I blamed him for me being a dick and so much more. I got up to leave when he laid his hand on my arm and stopped me dead in my tracks. His touch had conditioned me to equate it with pain, and no matter how much I told myself he couldn't hurt me anymore, that he hadn't in a long fucking time, it still didn’t stop me from tensing up, waiting for the blow that always came.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I spat, throwing his arm off. “You lost every right you had to touch me when you fucking scarred up my back.” The venom in my voice had his ass backing down, hands up in a surrender motion. Yeah, bitch.
“Son…”
“Don’t fucking call me that,” I growled, ready to light his ass up.
“Deklan, I just need two minutes of your time.” I knew what this was, this was him telling me again, that he had cut me off, and I wouldn’t be allowed any Kane money. Like I gave a damn about that. I didn’t need his money or him.
“Save your lame ass speech about your fucking money; we’ve had that talk before.” I brushed past him, this time prepared to lay him out if he touched me again.
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said and I admit that shit was not at all what I expected. It was enough to halt my retreat.
Royce Kane did the things he did because he did them well. He ran a successful business because he did it well. He made people cower in fear because it came naturally to him, but he never apologized because to him he never did shit he needed to apologize for. The one time, yes one time, I’d seen him apologize, it was for some slight he’d done to my mother, and she had him groveling.
I stopped and faced him. He needed to say that shit again, not that it meant anything to me, but still. “What?”
“I said I’m sorry.” His strong voice didn't match his appearance.
“For what?” It would be just like his ass to apologize for me running into his fist or some shit.
“I have several things to apologize for. I’ve had to face some hard things over these last few months since your mother got sick, and after she died…I just... I’m sorry for my behavior over the years as you were growing up.” He sighed heavily, like him saying that shit lifted a weight off his shoulders, like that’s all it took. A fucking ‘I’m sorry’. Please
.
“For your behavior!?” I gave zero fucks that we were in a cemetery, a quiet place. He apologized like only Royce Kane would, by not really apologizing. Fuck that. He knows what he did, but I’m sure he doesn’t think he did anything wrong. It was time he knew he did.
“You beat the shit out of me for years, years! Fucked my head up in so many ways possible, and then you denied everything, told them I was lying and even got Matty to go along with your bullshit!” I stepped to him; intent on reliving the last moments we were in the same vicinity and I struck his ass in the jaw.
But if I did that I would be no better than he was, and I refused to be anything like that muthafucker. I got my peace the last time I saw him and it had felt good. Doing it again now and in front of my mother's grave seemed like a power play, and I didn’t want power over him; I just wanted him out of my life because he sure as hell had no power over me anymore.
To his credit though he didn’t back down from me, he just stood there with a semi-defeated look on his face, and that pissed me off even more. Like my words didn’t affect him in the slightest.
“You know what, fuck this, I’m out.” I turned to leave while he started saying some shit about a lawyer and wills that I ignored. I couldn’t get to my car fast enough and get the hell away from him and his sorry ass apology that I didn’t need. I had long since given up on the idea that Royce Kane was sorry for anything, and that pathetic ass conversation proved my point.
Drowning Pool’s Bodies blasted as I stomped the gas pedal and drove hard to try and rid myself of the pent-up energy I had. I should have just laid him out again and maybe then I wouldn’t be feeling this way, with this need to destroy something. This feeling usually went away with some hard, dirty sex, and if I went back to Harley now with all the shit she had going on and tried to fuck her, I’d break her and not physically. She could handle me fucking her raw and dirty but with how I’m feeling it would be raw, dirty, and mean.
So fucking mean.
So I blew past the turn for the motel where I know Harley was waiting for me, and I headed straight to the closest bar to pick up old habits.
Harley
(Evanescence “Missing”)
It’s been thirty minutes. Really it’s been forty-five minutes because I sent the last text fifteen minutes after I sent the first one, which was thirty minutes ago when Ember left, and I asked Deklan to come back.
He hadn’t.
I was still alone.
When I called his phone, it rang straight to voicemail. Maybe his phone died. Maybe it brushed up against something in his pocket and accidently shut itself off. Maybe…maybe…he turned it off for a very good reason. No matter how loud I screamed, the maybes in my head, they never covered up the more insidious thoughts. Thoughts that screamed that he’d turned his phone off because he was tired of being bothered with my needy ass. Thoughts that he’d gone to pick up some randoms and have sex with them, because he didn’t have to be careful and gentle with them. The thoughts were coming in rapid fire, hurtful and more probable with each one and with those thoughts came the guilt.
He should be able to have a break from constantly babysitting me, right? And here I was panicking because he didn’t answer, never mind the fact that he always answered when I called. Maybe…he was tired of me after all and he only brought me here to leave me. Except, he had said that I was more than enough; that he didn’t need to do all of that sleeping around he’d done in the past. Was that a lie?
I hated how stupid and pathetic I was, obsessively checking my phone every five minutes and how I sounded like some whiny fucking teenager whose boyfriend was ignoring her only not because I wasn’t a teenager and Deklan was, was… he never actually called himself my boyfriend, or me his girlfriend for that matter, but I kind of just assumed that’s what we were. I mean we have all the makings of a couple but still…
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t let my pessimistic thoughts cloud what little good ones I did have. I needed distraction, so I paced. I formulated a game plan for tomorrow when I saw the police. I fixed the wrinkles in the ugly flower comforter on the bed where Ember had messed it up when she sat on it. Why do all motels have the shittiest looking décor possible? It’s like they want people to not stay there. My mind latched onto these innocuous subjects, and I ran with it.
From there the thoughts spiraled out of control until I heard a car door slam outside, shaking me from my thoughts. I ran to the window sure it was Deklan, but was disappointed when it was someone else who had checked into the room next door. A guy who looked to be a few years older than me with a very pregnant girl around my age was headed to the room next door. The guy carried a suitcase and the girl a smaller duffle, which he took from her and gave her admonishing but loving look. The look was intensely private, yet I couldn’t look away, and like a voyeur, I watched until the door of their room closed with a soft thud.
I was alone again and still no word from Deklan. He had to come back sometime right? I mean his stuff was here. I went over to our joined overnight bag just to make sure his stuff was still there. He had only packed a few things, nothing that couldn’t be replaced, but seeing his stuff still there did calm me a little. As if on autopilot, my hand went to the bottom of the bag and my fingers brushed around the balled up shirt where I had hidden the razor. I told myself as I pulled it out that I just wanted to check and make sure it was still there. That’s all.
But when I opened it, it stared at me, mocking, begging me to make the noise and evil things in my head go away. With greater effort than I should have had to use, I balled it back up and shoved it back in the bag. I couldn’t.
But with each passing hour and still no Deklan, I found myself back at the bag, taking out the razor from its hiding spot. Just one cut, one small line and I could breathe a little easier. One line and everything would be a little less cloudy.
I pressed razor to the inside of my wrist, just under the other cut, not even a day old, and paused only a minute to contemplate what I was doing before I sliced quickly, making a perfect red line.
But nothing happened. The normal relief that I’d gotten before didn’t come, and I still felt the overwhelming need, and the chaos and noise was still ever present and growing louder by the minute. So I did it again, pressing the blade a little harder.
There, there it is, that relief so faint it's almost not there, like Deklan. After making two more cuts, the relief I sought hit me fully, and I sank to the floor, finally able to relax my grip on the razor and bask in the feeling of nothing.
No fear, no panic, no voices…just nothing. It didn't last long though because the reality of what I’d done hit me as I saw the blood on my arm. The cuts weren’t that deep that they required a professional's attention, but they are not shallow either and morosely remind me of the cuts done by my mother.
That made me almost vomit. I was batshit and pathetic because even though I felt guilty as shit for cutting, I still cleaned off the razor and put it back in its hiding spot instead of trashing it. Not so deep down, I knew that I’d need it again, and that made me hate myself even more than I already did.
I cleaned up, and after flushing the evidence down the toilet, I took a shower and crawled into bed with my watch securely in place to hide what I had done. It was late in the afternoon, and I wasn’t sure what would happen after Deklan got back. With each passing hour and still no word from him, I felt less and less guilty about cutting and more scared that I wouldn’t be able to breathe without it, or without him.
Chapter 7
Deklan
I was so beyond fucked up I couldn’t even see ten feet in front of me, which was a problem because I didn’t know how I was getting back to the motel.
Harley.
I knew she must be flipping the fuck out, but after leaving the cemetery, I needed to shut out the world and went to the only bar that was open at three o’clock in the fucking afternoon and got lit. Shot after shot, I felt the tension ease out of me and the word
s of Royce slowly slip away as the alcohol began to fog my brain.
It wasn’t until much later that I finally fumbled my phone on after the dickface bartender refused to give me another shot unless I called someone to pick my ass up. I hated when bartenders acted like they had a fucking conscience. If I wanted to get smashed and pass out, it was on me. What the fuck did he care?
After powering on my phone, it began to dance with missed calls and text messages, all from Harley. I knew I should call her, but I couldn’t seem to make what I knew I should do and what I actually did to sync. There was a worry in the back of my brain that told me I needed to get to Har; she needed me, but I couldn’t make my feet move.
“Hello there.” Some busty blonde sat next to me at the bar, her hand landing on my thigh, and cutting through my haze. I knew I should have removed it, but I didn’t. She must have taken that as a green light to go ahead with her pushing up on me and scooted a little closer, her hand traveled toward my dick.
Hurt Me: A 'Me' Novel Page 12
