Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Warren
I run.
Out of his room.
Out of the building.
I don’t grab my shoes or jacket. Today is especially cold. Temperatures dipping well below what is usual for our winters. The cold assaults me the moment I step outside, making my arms pebble in goosebumps. My bare feet slap against the frigid concrete. Every so often something sharp digs into my soles, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
I’m sure this will get back to Mother.
“You know I saw Warren running barefoot through campus. Is everything alright?”
Their fake concern will look sincere to people not from here. But it’s not. They’re looking for cracks. Something to hold on to and take my family down.
Or that’s what Mother says they’re doing. Grandaddy too.
I can’t seem to care about any of that right now.
My insides hurt so badly, like someone reached underneath my skin and bones and twisted everything in their hands, wringing it all until it ripped.
When I reach my door, I hurriedly fish my keys out of my pocket, opening it and throwing myself inside.
I’m a mess. Uncontrollable wails escape my mouth, making my voice hoarse while my heart continues to beat in my throat. I stumble through the house, trying to just get farther inside, away from the outside, away from what hurts. But it’s inescapable, isn’t it? And it’s all my fault.
I should’ve told him.
I know that. That’s why I left the first time, when I came across the picture on his desk, carefully tucked away from the light for him to mourn in private. Her brown eyes staring up at me, looking much more alive than the last time I saw them. Her name has been emblazoned in my mind since the moment I learned it.
Charlotte Johnson.
I did that. I robbed her of whatever she was meant for.
I tried to resist him, but he pulled me back, barely having to tug on the tether that connects our souls for me to concede.
The last thing I wanted was to hurt him. But I did it anyway, by just existing in his world.
From the moment we met, I was meant to hurt him. We were doomed.
This was always going to be the end result.
A spectacular, fiery explosion with him as the casualty.
My feet drag me into the kitchen. I throw drawers open, wildly pushing utensils aside to find what I need.
I’m wounded inside, but the outside needs to match. I deserve to hurt. That’s what Eli didn’t understand when he told me to stop punishing myself, because he didn’t know the whole truth. The pain I’ve caused him—his family—is immeasurable. This is the least I can do for them. To inflict some of that pain onto myself.
My search grows even more frantic, throwing everything on the ground until the drawers are empty.
I run to my room, tearing everything out of my closet, emptying my desk, but I can’t find one. I got rid of all them when Eli found out.
I wander back into the kitchen. A ghost. Barely functioning.
I eye the block full of kitchen knives sitting on the counter, walking up to them without thinking.
I’ve always felt I wasn’t out of control enough to use them. That if I did, that meant I truly had some type of problem. The rubber bands were just a habit. A bad one. But not a problem . I reveled in the sting and by the time the marks disappeared after a day or two, I was fine, never leaving any permanent scars behind.
But in this moment… I need it. A permanent reminder of the person I am.
I take one out, the sharpness of the metal making a sickening sound in the still air. My hand trembles as I bring it up to my arm, hovering over the skin as I replay his words in my head. The hurt in his eyes. The devastation. I eviscerated him. The person I love.
I press the blade to my skin, feeling a slight sting but not enough to break skin. Tears stream down my face, littering the gleaming marble counter below me.
I hate myself.
I hate what I did to her. To the family. To him.
My head snaps up when I hear the front door slam. SJ runs around the corner, eyes wild and searching. She finds me and flicks her gaze down to where I’m still pressing the knife to my skin. I’m frozen, covered in shame at being caught.
Then she moves quickly, too quickly for me to move or think about anything, running up to me and punching me in the face .
I drop the knife, hearing it clatter to the ground as my hands fly to my nose.
“Ow! What the fuck, SJ?! You could’ve just told me to drop it!” I yell, cradling my nose as blood begins to trickle out and pain lances through my entire face.
She kicks the knife away, sending it spinning across the floor before bending at the waist, shaking out her hand she just used to punch me. Standing back up, she yells through tired breaths, “I just had to make sure you didn’t do it, you jackass!”
I fumble for the paper towels, taking a wad and pressing it to my bleeding nose, wincing when a sharp stab of pain radiates through me.
We’re both silent as we try to catch our breath. She wipes sweat from her brow and goes to the fridge to grab a water bottle, chugging it.
“Did you run here?” I grumble through the mass of paper towels around my nose and mouth.
She doesn’t speak to me, only nods and puts her hands on the counter, still collecting herself.
After a few more minutes of silence, she asks quietly, “Who’s Eli?”
I try to school my reaction, keeping my eyes on the ground. “Huh?”
She walks over to me, tapping her toe on the ground until I meet her eyes. “Some guy named Eli messaged me on Instagram and said he was afraid you were going to hurt yourself—that I needed to go to you. Who is he?”
I take a deep breath, something to ground me so I don’t completely lose my shit. But it doesn’t work.
Tears flow from my eyes as I crumple to the floor, unable to hold myself up anymore. SJ follows me down, holding me as the tears turn into violent sobs, stealing my breath.
When they start to quiet, I croak out, “I need to tell you something.”
Then I unload it all. Finally revealing the truth to her, letting the poison flow out of me.
I’d love to say that I feel lighter after. But I don’t. Because it changes nothing.