56. Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Five
Lisette
T he warm water of my shower sprays on my head, mixing with my tears. I hug my knees as I chew at my pinky nail, desperately trying to get the screaming out of my head.
I envision Isabelle’s smile, the sound of her sweet laugh, and the smell of her cherry shampoo. I keep her on a loop in my head as I fight the tug pulling at me, willing me to say fuck it for another escape.
“She can’t see you like this,” I remind myself. “He won’t let you near her.” I force my eyes shut, hitting my head with the palm of my hand.
“You’re fine,” I whisper to myself on repeat. Again and again, but when the lodge in my throat is too big to speak, my blurry vision lands on the razor in front of me. I sniffle quietly as I grab it and dismantle it to get the blade out.
I just need to feel something else other than this. I can’t get high… Jackson will see right through me and I want to see Belle too badly. I can’t drink either. I need to be sober, but I need to feel anything other than the pain in my chest. The banging in my head. The nausea from the damn drugs leaching at my will to fight.
I wipe my tears on my shoulder as I trace one of the scars on my thigh. I bite my lip to conceal my cries and a copper taste fills my mouth as I watch the red fill the tub and trail into the drain, taking a bit of me with it.
“Lissy?” Jackson’s heavy knock sounds on the door and I jump in surprise. The blade digs deeper into my skin and I suck in a breath as I drop it, pressing my palm to my leg to slow the rushing bleeding.
“Fuck.” I soak in the pain for a beat but when too much blood fills the tub, I curse myself again.
“I can’t find your turtle, are you sure he isn’t in there?”
“He’s not,” I choke out as I lean over to grab my towel.
“Why do you sound like that? Are you okay?”
I let out a groan as I press the towel to my leg and shut the water off. “I’m fine.”
The door swings open, and I quickly pull the curtain back before he can see the mess.
“You don’t sound fine.”
I let my eyes fall shut as I lean my head against the shower wall.
“Why are you sitting in there with the water off?”
“I’m meditating.” I take in a shaky breath before pulling the towel away from my leg, but the bleeding doesn’t stop.
“Do you normally meditate naked?”
I let out a pained laugh. “Do you want to meditate naked with me?”
He quiets and another smile tugs at my lips.
“Is that blood?”
I look up and notice the red stains on the side of the tub from when I grabbed my towel. I bite my lip, silently hoping he’ll just ignore it and let me deal with this on my own.
“Please tell me you just got your period, Lisette.” The curtain is pulled back before I can reply and I keep my eyes on my leg, not having it in me to face him. “Jesus Christ.” He immediately pulls me into his arms.
I suck in a breath of pain as he lifts me out of the shower.
“What the hell are you—” he cuts himself off, shaking his head.
He rests me on the bed gently and I use some of the towel to cover myself but there’s no point since his focus is on the blood coming from my thigh. “Let me see.” He reaches for it, but I push his hand away.
“It’s not that bad. I just cut myself shaving and—”
“Don’t fucking lie to me right now, Lisette.” He looks between my eyes with restrained anger before his gaze softens. “Just let me help you.”
My eyes dart down to the ground before I pull my hand back. He lifts the towel before quickly covering it again, pressing the cut hard. I suck in a sharp breath before grabbing the shirt I laid out, quickly throwing it over myself.
“You need stitches.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Don’t—” he cuts himself off as I shove his hand away to pull the towel back and the bleeding slows, but the cut is deep. When it starts bleeding heavier, he moves my hand and applies more pressure.
I bite down my tongue as I grip the bed sheets. “Do you have a blood kink? Because we can totally take advantage of this.” I smile up at him, but he doesn’t even look at me.
My smile slowly disintegrates and just as I’m about to look away, his gaze meets mine.
“I was right out here. Why didn’t you call me?”
I shake my head at his words. “Why do you and Sire keep saying that? Every time I drink or get high or cut myself, it’s always ‘Why didn’t you call?’ You can’t help.”
He shakes his head at me, his eyes searching my face. “We can’t if you don’t let us.” He brushes a hair behind my ear before holding my face gently. “Nothing we say to you is going to work until you believe you can be helped.”
“I’m too far gone.” I shake my head out of his grasp but he holds me tighter.
“You don’t believe that.”
“It’s true.”
“So we don’t need to go see Isabelle.”
My brows furrow as I look between his eyes.
“If you believe you can’t be helped, if you truly don’t plan on fighting, then don’t give her false hope. Don’t let her fall in love with you if you’re going to leave her. She doesn’t need to gain a great sense of humor from you leaving.”
I blink my tears away as I try to move my face, but he remains holding me.
“Tell me right now what’s it going to be. Are you going to fight for your future or are you going to give up, because I’ll call your brother and he can fight this battle for you. You don’t need to do this alone, but decide now what’s it going to be because I love you, but I refuse to let you hurt my kid.”
I bite my tongue to hold back a cry. Squeezing my eyes shut, I shake my head silently.
“What does that mean?” he whispers.
“I don’t want to fight,” I choke out and a beat passes before he lets go of my face, but I quickly grab his hand, looking back up at him. “But I do.” I hold his gaze, desperate for him not to leave me.
He nods a few times before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss on my nose. “Do you have anything I can stitch you up with?”
“In the kitchen.”
He nods slowly, but I can see all of his gears turning as he glances down at the rest of my scars.
“You can change your mind, you know.”
His eyes meet mine.
“About what you said in the car,” I clarify. “About how long you want me.”
He rolls his eyes before kissing me. “I’m not changing my mind. All you get is fifty-five years. You still need to get the fuck out at eighty-one. Your sob story won’t work on me.”
A genuine laugh erupts from me before he wraps his arm around me. I bring my arms around his neck, pulling him back on the bed with me and he hovers over me, keeping pressure on my cut.
“I know you said you were waiting until I’m mentally stable before we have sex, but how long are you willing to wait?”
His head tilts to the side as his eyes scan my face. “I don’t care about sex, Lisette. I’ll wait forever.”
A somber smile reaches my lips. “Forever or fifty-five years?”
He bites back a smile before kissing me. When he pulls away he turns more serious. “When you’re sober and not self-harming, I’ll fuck you however you want.” He kisses my neck before sitting up and I smile over at him.
“Well, that’s all the motivation I needed.”
He rolls his eyes playfully before stepping out.
I slip my underwear on, and when he makes it back with the stitches kit, I start to wish I had taken something for the pain when he wasn’t looking.