and run to Mom’s door. She’s on her knees, cleaning up a broken bottle. “I’ll get it.”
“Thanks, sweetie.”
I pick up all the large pieces. “I’ll ask Helen to sweep in case I missed any.”
“Good boy. On your way back, be a dear and get one of Dirk’s bottles from the bar that looks like that one did.”
“Sure, Mom.”
Crew is in the hallway. He knows she drinks a lot, but I still make excuses. “Today is hard for her. It’s been one year since Luke died.” I nod down the hallway. “Come on, I have to get her some more.”
After finding Helen and telling her about the glass, Crew and I go into the room Dirk calls the salon. Bottles line one wall. I find one resembling the one Mom broke.
“He won’t care if you’re in here, taking his stuff?”
“Mom does it all the time. Then more magically appears. You’ll never find an empty spot.”
Crew gets a devious grin on his face and grabs one of the fancy brown bottles labeled Crown Royal.
I give him a look.
“What? You said he doesn’t care if anyone takes it. We’re going to be rock stars. Rock stars drink alcohol.”
“You’re crazy.”
He goes to my room, walking fast in case anyone is around. “Come on,” he says over his shoulder.
I deliver the bottle to Mom and then join Crew, locking the door behind me.
“Do you have any glasses?” he asks.
“Yeah, I keep glasses in my room to drink stolen bottles of my uncle’s alcohol.”
He twists off the top. “We’ll drink out of the bottle.” He raises it. “To Luke.”
He takes a drink and starts coughing. I grab the bottle from him and take a whiff. It smells like gasoline. “To Luke, the best brother anyone ever had.”
I swallow a large mouthful and almost puke it back up. Crew laughs. He swipes the bottle back. “I could be your brother, you know.”
“I wish.”
“Let’s make a pact right now. It’ll be like we’re blood brothers, only without the blood. We’ll never leave each other. We’ll be in a band, get famous, and tour the world. And every day on this date, we’ll drink whatever this shit is and toast Luke.”
“Let’s do that.”
“Not some pansy drink. Take a big gulp, like a man.”
“You mean like a rock star.”
Three hours later, after throwing up so much I doubt I have any more insides, Crew is passed out on my bed. I hope he meant what he said. But I wonder if he’d still mean it if he found out about me. Would he call me a fag? A homo?
I get my phone out. It’s still on the website I was looking at earlier. My head is spinning, but I read it anyway. My stomach turns again when I read the part about the physical signs, such as blood and bruising, and behavioral signs like nightmares and bedwetting. Things I hid from everyone, even my dad.
There is one sign I don’t understand: self-harm. I dig deeper and read that some victims of abuse cut themselves. Kids often do it because it makes them feel better. It gives them relief from the pain of strong emotions and desperate feelings.
I keep reading about how, why, and where they do it. The article goes on to say why it’s a bad thing, but I don’t read that part. I go across the hall to Mom’s room. She’s passed out, like I thought she’d be. I pull a large piece of glass out of her trashcan, run back to my room, and lock myself in the bathroom.
I push my shorts up near my crotch and graze the jagged glass across my outer thigh. I put more pressure on it, until it pierces the skin. The pain makes me flinch. Blood beads along the cut. I like the way it looks. And even though it hurts, I like the way it feels, because this kind of pain—it’s different. I’m in control of it. And that makes it exhilarating.
I do it again. And again.
Chapter Fifty
Ella
I nervously knock on the door to Liam’s apartment.
Crew opens the door and cocks his head. “Hey, Ella.” He glances down the hall.
“Is he here?”
“I thought he stayed with you last night.”
My heart pounds. “I haven’t seen him since he left the club.”
“Shit, me neither.” He moves aside. “Come in.”
He gets his phone and texts Liam.
“He hasn’t been answering my texts or calls,” I say. Tears flood my eyes. “Crew, what do you think happened to him?”