feeling I’ve been holding in pushes through to the surface.
“Y-you?” he chokes on the single word.
I give him a sad smile. “Yeah.”
“Why would you do that? Why would you hurt yourself like that?” He isn’t looking at me with disgust like I expected him to, but the look isn’t necessarily pitying either. In fact, it seems like he’s just seeing me for the first time. Recognizing that our pain is the same. “Why? Just tell me why so I can understand this?”
“Because… I… it just helps me deal.” How am I going to explain this to him in a way he would understand when I don’t really understand it? “I guess when I cut myself, everything in my mind goes silent. For one second, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed.” I look down at my hands, wondering what’s going to happen next. Is he going to laugh in my face? Tell everyone? Now that he knows there isn’t anything I can do to stop him from making me the laughing stock of the entire school.
I can’t hold the tears back any longer and start to silently sob while I wait for him to mock me. My stomach twists and knots, and I feel the itch to cut myself right now to shut everything off.
“You want to do it now, don’t you?” he questions.
I don’t know why I bother replying, it’s none of his business. I don’t have to tell him what I’m thinking or feeling, but I want to. I want someone to know that I’m suffering, just one person. “I do.” I sob, wiping at the tears that keep coming.
My vision is so blurry, I can’t see anything, but I know he’s still there.
“You can leave now. You’ve got what you wanted. Go tell everyone, go make a mockery out of me like I know you want to.” The ache in my chest is intensifying, making it hard for me to breathe, and I gasp for air like I’m being choked.
“I’m not going anywhere. Scoot over and climb under the covers.”
“Why?” I ask as I start doing as he says. I’m so used to doing what he tells me, I simply act and ask questions later.
“Because I want to hold you, that’s why. Now don’t ruin this. Roll over and let me do this.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Kennedy. In fact, for the first time in forever, I think we actually might have something in common. Now roll over before I make you.”
Doing as he says, I roll over and pull the blanket up to my chest. A moment later, I hear clothes hitting the floor, and then he’s crawling under the blanket and moving toward me. Heat envelopes my body, and when he puts his arm over me and tugs me back into his bare chest, I feel… safe, which is the strangest thing since he’s the last person I should feel safe with.
“What do you mean by we have something in common?”
“I feel the same about fighting in the pit. I like kicking the shit out of someone, but I don’t mind getting my face smashed in either. Physical pain is better than the alternative, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…”
“Sleep. Your secret is safe with me, Junebug.” He uses the nickname he used to call me when we were younger, and my heart shatters. I sob into the pillow while he holds me tight, holding all my broken pieces together. Then, I close my eyes and fall into a fitful sleep, wondering if he really means it.
Is my secret safe with him?
19
Jackson
Seeing her pain for the first time is like ripping the scab off an already healing wound. I thought what I was doing was the right thing. I thought she was bluffing, pretending that she felt bad, but the proof was right there. I thought that discovering her pain—seeing her suffer—would give me more satisfaction than it did. Instead, it made me sick, made me hate myself a little bit. Knowing she was cutting herself, causing herself physical pain. All along, she had been suffering right in front of me. I was just too self-absorbed to see it. Too wrapped up in my own pain, in wanting to make sure she was hurting, to notice that she was.
I spent all night holding her in my arms, listening to her sob. I can’t wrap my head around her thinking I was going to tell. Make fun of her. I almost scoff at the thought. It’s totally understandable