the fuck do you think I fight?” I yell. “I lied. Of course, my nightmares fucking hurt. They carve away everything that I am, slicing me open and letting me bleed out.”
Her hand grabs onto mine, still grasped tightly to the towel at her skin. She’s shaking, or maybe that’s me. I can’t tell.
“I fight to find power. I let others make me bleed in search of freedom. The agony their fists cause distracts me from every fucked up thought drowning me.” I sigh, dropping my head. “I’m always fucking drowning, beauty.”
“But you’re strong,” she argues meekly.
“Physically, yes. Mentally, I’m as feeble as they come.”
That’s it. Me. No question. No doubt. A show of muscle on the outside, but cracked on the inside, ready to shatter.
And now Camryn Rein knows it.
“Will you keep my secret?” she asks, the plea in her voice as desperate as I’ve ever seen her.
“This ain’t healthy.” I gesture to her leg.
“It’s been getting better. Since...”
She goes quiet, her eyes anchoring to mine in indecision.
“Since me,” I answer for her.
“I’m lame.”
I cough to clear my throat. “I haven’t fought since you.”
She searches for the lie in my confession. One she won’t find.
Camryn Rein has become my greatest defense against myself. A distraction I hadn’t believed was a possibility.
She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me into her body. Like her kiss, her embrace is a silent recognition of what my fucked-up version of friendship has brought into her life.
I don’t think about it too hard, hugging her back, showing her my own gratitude.
“Aren’t we just a fucked up pair?” She barks out a laugh.
I pull back, a lazy smile on my face. “It’s not as if we could share these broken parts of ourselves with Parker and Codi.”
She nods. “It’s nice to be accepted. To not have someone try and fix you.”
“Let’s get this leg cleaned up. You’re staining my tiles.”
“It’s not deep,” she says softly. “Do you have any of those steri-strips from your eye left over?”
I place her hand on the towel, making certain she has hold before I stand.
“I think so.” I open my bathroom cabinet in search of something to stop the bleeding. “When did it start? The cutting?”
I watch her reflection in the mirror, the dismissive shrug of her shoulders. “Few years. These were all from just after I left college. I wasn’t lying. I don’t do it often. Only when I’m really struggling.”
“Shouldn’t you speak to someone about a healthier way to cope?” I turn around, handing over the strips she had asked for.
“Have you?” she bites back.
“My mind is a maze no one is making it out of.”
I answered my own question.
“Why?” I test, more than confident she’ll tell me to go fuck myself.
“I told you why,” she argues defensively.
“You know what I mean.” I lean against the vanity, arms crossed against my chest. “What was the catalyst? What was so painful that you find peace in harming yourself?”
The line of her throat bobs thickly as she swallows.
“What was yours?” She throws back at me, eyes focused on the cut, no longer than an inch, carved into her thigh.
“My mom,” I answer without delay. “The way she died. I was weighed down by a pain I could never lift off my shoulders. Then Marcus hit me, Kane too, and for the split second in time, the physical pain brought down by their fists was enough to erase the pain in my heart.”
She looks up then, looking into me deeper than I’m comfortable with. “But that’s not everything.”
It’s my turn to swallow my hesitation.
“Someone else left me.”
She watches me carefully. “A girl?”
I shrug, not willing to divulge any more. “Your turn.”
Placing the small white strips across the cut, she dabs at the spot, cleaning away the dried blood. “I can’t,” she chokes on the words.
“Can’t or won’t?”
She shakes her head, refusing to answer.
“Why?”
Glancing up, she lets me see the pool of tears collected in her eyes, readying themselves to fall. “It hurts too much. I’ve never spoken to anyone about it, not completely,” she begs me to understand.
“You’re scared.”
She blinks, her tears racing down her face silently.
“You find something that scares you, beauty. You stand the fuck up and confront it head-on. You stare it right down the fucking eye and if it forces you back... you push it back. Harder. You stand tall. Squared shoulders. And push. It. The fuck. Back. You own it. You let that fear know it won’t fucking control you. That’s how you destroy