Regretting You (Blackthorn Elite #4) - J.L. Beck Page 0,5

live so far away that I couldn’t walk. Since driving is out of the question for me.

Even if I hadn’t lost my driver’s license after the accident, I wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel again. I don’t think I will ever be able to drive again, I can barely stand riding in a car in general. I’ve only gotten in a car with my parents since the accident, and I don’t see that changing in the future.

I sigh when I finally reach my apartment and retrieve my keys from my pocket with a shaking hand. Relief is so close, close enough that I can almost taste it. Unlocking the door, I hurry inside and close it behind me before clicking the lock back into place. I deposit my stuff on the floor and rush into the bathroom.

My hands are shaking with anticipation as I pull my pants down and step out of them. I open the medicine cabinet and grab the tiny box where I keep the razor blades. With trembling fingers, I grab one and put the rest on the counter.

Sinking to the floor with my back against the tub, I look down at my thighs. There are countless scars that decorate my skin. Most are so tiny they are barely noticeable; some are bigger, and others are still red, raised, and healing.

I don’t exactly know why I started doing this, but one day, I felt the need to do it. It started with nothing more than pushing the blade into my skin and later turned to deeper cuts. The rational part of me knows it’s wrong to do this, but it’s my one reprieve, for one second, I feel nothing, not shame or guilt, or fear. I might not know why I began, but I know that somewhere along the way, it morphed into something else… an addiction.

The one thing that helps me get through each day.

Holding the razor blade between my fingers, I bring it to a spot of unblemished skin and slide it across, watching as the skin separates.

Blood starts to pool along the blade, and my hand stops shaking, a euphoric feeling washes over me. The pressure on my chest is released, and suddenly, I can breathe again. Air enters my lungs rapidly as I suck in a deep breath and push the blade into my skin just a tiny bit deeper. Every time I do this, it becomes a little harder not to cut deeper, to stop myself from sinking the blade as deep as I can.

Do I want to kill myself? I don’t know. What I do know is I’ll do anything for five seconds of silence. Watching as the blood drips slowly down my leg, I feel satisfied. My vision becomes blurry, and my skin burns where the blade sliced through it, but it doesn’t hurt. I think it should hurt, though all I feel is sated. Still, I need more.

Moving the blade a little lower, I cut myself again, sliding the blade across my skin. More burning, more euphoria… more silence.

Nothing can touch me when I’m inside my bubble. Not the memories. Not Jackson. Not the past. My emotions don’t exist here. All I can feel is right now. Closed off from the world, there is nothing else that can reach me.

Inside here, I’m free, the pain I inflict on myself absorbs everything around me, making it possible to hold on for one more day.

One more day.

One more cut.

3

Jackson

We all have our vices. Before my sister died, I was focused on my grades, on my future. I was a good kid. I didn’t drink or fight. I didn’t even smoke weed.

I had sex, but nothing like I do now. Using my body as a weapon, screwing any chick that bats her eyes at me. I used to be focused on being the perfect son and brother. Now, I focus on nothing but momentary pleasure. Anything that gets me through the day.

When Jillian died, a piece of me died with her. It broke off, shattered. My heart became a black hole for anger and pain. Now that she’s here, I’m reminded of that loss and the pain. My anger is amplified.

“You sure you want to do this tonight?” Talon interrupts my thoughts. I met him during freshman orientation at Blackthorn. I wasn’t trying to make friends, but the fuckface wouldn’t leave me alone, and so here we are now.

Glaring at him, I continue stretching. “We’re doing this, either that or I can