After listening to the scraping and crashing of her rearranging my kitchen as I once knew it, I take another gulp of beer. “I don’t need your fucking help. Does Storm know you’re over here, playing maid to his fuck-up of a cousin?”
“Yes, he knows I’m here. You’re not a fuck-up, Vandal. Everyone is worried about you. And they need you at practice; the band can’t perform without a bass player. You should take a shower too, you’ll feel better.”
Chugging the rest of my beer, I toss the empty can onto the counter she just cleaned, and sneer at her. “You can all fuck off.”
Evelyn takes a deep breath and looks at me warily. I know she’s afraid of me, yet here she is, putting herself right in the line of my fire. I’m not sure if she’s determined or just really stupid.
“Thanks for the food. Now get the fuck out of my house.” I turn to head back to bed but she grabs my arm. When I glare at her and rip my arm out of her grasp, she stands there like a lost puppy, bottom lip quivering. Lukas’s words come back to haunt me: “If you keep kicking a dog, eventually he’s not going to come back.”
I don’t know why, but the shimmering tears in her eyes make me lose it. I try to fight crying in front of her, but I can’t control the tears that start and the ache that builds in my chest again. I sink to the cold tile floor and she goes down with me, wrapping her small arms around me as best she can, holding me close to her.
“It’s okay.” She whispers those two words over and over. Nothing is okay, but having her close to me makes me feel a little less alone.
I’m not sure how long I cry on the floor with her, but after a while she takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom, throwing a blanket over me after I fall onto the bed.
When I wake up hours later, she’s gone, but my entire house is clean, and my laundry is done and folded. Katie’s door is still closed, and I hope Evelyn didn’t go in there and touch anything because I want it all exactly how Katie left it. I head to the kitchen to pick at some of the food she left and I find a note taped to the refrigerator.
“I’ll be back next week. I’ll keep coming back until I don’t have to. ~ Evelyn”
I crumple the note and toss it in the trash.
***
I get out my bass and sit on the couch to play but I just can’t get into it. Everything sounds like shit to me. A different fetish is calling my name, and I know it won’t shut up until I give in. I lay my bass on the coffee table and go to the master bathroom. In the back of the closet is a small painted-black onyx box that I’ve had since I was twelve years old. I made it myself, not knowing what I would put in it at the time, but it soon housed my most precious items.
I sit the box on the edge of the bathtub and open the lid. Inside are several glistening razor blades, and one very old one, rusty, encrusted with dry blood. My very first blade, which I’ve kept all these years—a souvenir of sorts.
I take out one of the blades and my heart beats faster knowing the euphoria that is coming. I push my cut-off sweat pants out of the way and slide the blade down my outer thigh, the trail of red chasing it like a lost lover. Pain has always been my best friend and greatest release. I slide the blade again, a little deeper this time, and close my eyes as the hurt and agony eases from my soul and into my leg, escaping in the drops that slowly drip down my flesh.
***
The next day I decide to go to the studio and put in some jam time with the rest of the band since I’ve missed a crazy amount of sessions already and I’m sure the guys are getting pissed off.
“Where the hell have you been?” Asher demands the minute I walk into the studio. I drop my bass case and try to focus on him. Hangovers are not my strong point.
“Relax, man, I’m here.” My words slur.
My cousin Talon puts his guitar down and approaches me, pushing me into the nearest chair. “You’re drunk off your ass again. Did you actually drive like this?”