34. Laney
I stare at the image on my laptop screen.
The police have arrested Reed. It’s all over the internet.
I want to scream and cry, to claw at my face, and tear out my hair.
I was the one who first instigated things with him.
I was the one who seduced him back in the cabin, despite knowing he was trying to do the right thing and behave himself.
I’d practically torn off my panties and forced myself on him.
I’ve ruined his life.
I pick up the vodka bottle beside me and take another swig. I’ve almost finished it, and so I throw a couple of pills into my mouth as well. I’m desperate for oblivion, but so far all it’s given me is a cloudy mind, heavy limbs, and a headache.
In a rush of adrenaline and certainty, I jump to my feet and go to the bathroom.
I find the razor blade, still sitting beside the sink.
The sharp edge of it is dark with dried blood, and I pick it up and rinse it beneath the faucet.
The crusty dried brown turns red, and my breath catches as it swirls down the sink.
The first cut is hesitant, almost experimental. It’s just a nick on the inside of my wrist. How much will it bleed?
I only want to close my eyes and for this to be over.
The guys will be better off without me. I’m just a nuisance to them. Without me, they can get on with their lives. No one will be able to accuse Reed of anything if I no longer exist. Maybe I’ll even see my mom again on the other side.
My chest clenches with pain, and it dawns on me how much I’ve missed her.
Was that the reason I’d insisted on returning to the trailer?
It hadn’t been as much about me needing my space and independence as it had been about wanting to have some time to be close to her again.
She hadn’t been the best of mothers, but she’d still be the only one I’d ever had.
The only parent I’d ever had. While Reed might be my stepfather legally, he’d never been a dad to me in any way.
He’d raised Cade and Darius, though. They’d been important enough in his life for him to sober up and get clean. He’d never done that for me.
I thought I’d gotten over that pain during the change in our relationship, but clearly it has always been there, simmering beneath the surface.
Blood trickles from the wound. I like seeing it. It comforts me, like an old friend. All I want is peace. A rest from the whirling torment of my thoughts and the pain in my heart.
I’ve always believed I’m not strong enough to deal with all this. I guess I’m right.
I take the blade to my bed, picking up the bottle of vodka and a couple of containers of pills on the way.
I have no idea how much vodka I’ve drunk or the number of pills I’ve taken, but my eyes are heavy, and my thoughts are cloudy. If I want to be certain I won’t wake again I need to make the cut bigger.
The razor blade grows slippery with blood between my fingers, and I almost drop it. My dexterity seems to be leaving me, my fingers feeling fat and numb.
Is it the drugs and alcohol that are affecting me? Or the loss of blood?
I’m not sure, but before it’s too late, I draw the blade up the inside of my wrist once again.