Prologue
Wilder
NINE YEARS AGO
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?” a sweet female voice answers, and I swallow hard.
I’ve never called one of these hotlines before.
I don’t know why I’m calling now.
Curiosity mostly.
Curious how it works and if it’d help.
When I looked up local crisis hotlines, this was the first one that popped up.
“Hi, are you there?” the sweet voice continues. “Do you need help?”
“Um…” I sigh, not sure what to say, not sure how to speak when I’m choking on my own guilt.
“I can wait till you’re ready, but maybe you could tell me who I’m talkin’ to, please?”
Tears well in the corner of my eyes, but I fight them back and clear my throat. I try to say my name, but nothing comes out.
“I’m Delly,” she says softly. “Do you need medical attention at the moment?”
I look down at my leg and wince at the blood running down my thigh. “No.”
“Okay, good. How can I help you this evening?”
“I-I dunno. Not sure why I even called,” I finally admit.
“That’s okay, sir. I’m here to listen.”
“Sir? No, I’m only twenty-four.”
“Apologies, I was just being polite. Can you tell me your name?”
Hesitating, I lick my lips. I don’t want anyone to know I called. Sugarland Creek, Tennessee is a small town and this is a local crisis hotline, so it’s possible she’d recognize me if I told her my real name.
Shame. Guilt. Humiliation.
I feel enough of that. I don’t need to feel that way with a stranger too.
Especially from a girl who sounds as graceful as she does.
“Uh…it’s Luke.”
The first name that pops into my head is the guy who I got into a fight with last night. My head’s still throbbing from the hit he got on me after I decked him. But he deserved it when he asked if my little sister was of legal age yet so he could ‘tap that ass.’
Motherfucker.
But now I wish I’d picked a different name because hearing her say his name makes me pissed off all over again.
“Okay, Luke. Are you a danger to yourself right now?”
“I…have a razor blade.”
“It’s in your hand now?”
I swallow hard, looking at it like a lifeline. My knuckles are white from how tight I’m gripping it. “Yes.”
“Okay. Do you think you could set it down for me so we can talk?”
Shaking, I inhale a deep breath and then blow it out. “Sure, okay.”
I set it down on the edge of the tub but keep my gaze locked on it.
“Good. Can you tell me where you are?”
“The bathroom.”
“Have you harmed yourself before?”
“Yes.” Leaning my head back against the tub, I exhale. “When I was sixteen and nineteen, I cut deep enough to lose consciousness and was hospitalized.”
“Is there something makin’ you want to again?”
I wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining my thoughts. When I say them aloud, they sound stupid.
When I don’t respond, she continues, “Do you struggle with depression often, Luke?”
I stifle a laugh. “That’s what they tell me.”
“Are you on medication for it?”
“Not anymore. I stopped takin’ it when I turned eighteen.”
“How come?”
“Because they wanted me to go to therapy, which I did for almost two years. Even sent me to a psychiatrist after the first hospitalization.”
“Well, I’m no therapist or doctor, but considerin’ you called tonight, I can safely assume you don’t want to relapse and harm yourself.”
“I’m tryin’ hard not to, Delly…”
“But?”
“I’m in a lot of pain. Hell, I can barely remember a time when I haven’t been.
But tonight, I needed some relief from this doom feelin’ that I haven’t been able to escape in weeks.
The urge to cut until I pass out is…strong,” I confess, but if I were being totally honest, I’d tell her I’ve already made a cut on my upper thigh.
Not deep, though. It only bled a little, but it didn’t numb the pain either.
It’s why I didn’t know when to stop the last time I landed in the hospital.
I kept going until I felt that numbness and by then it was almost too late.
“Have you felt that urge since the last time you cut?”
“Yeah, a few times.” Few dozen.
“And what stopped you those times?”
“Um, rememberin’ the consequences and how the relief is only temporary. Thinkin’ about my family. My brother, mostly. He’s the one who found me in our parents’ bathroom the first and second time.”
“Does your brother live with you now?”
“Not exactly. He lives in the apartment below mine. We share a duplex.”
“Is he home?”
“He’s still workin’.”
I asked Waylon to cover for me with the evening chores at the retreat barn so I could go home. Told him I wasn’t feelin’ well and he didn’t ask any questions.
“What would he tell you if he knew you were strugglin’ right now?”
He’d probably wanna punch me in the face.
“He’d tell me to think about our parents and what it’d do to them seein’ me in the hospital again. How they’d worry. He’d remind me how scared he was last time and how losin’ his twin brother would destroy him. He’d beg me to get help.”
“You’re twins?” she asks.
“Yep. And the oldest of five kids.”
“Wow, so it sounds like you have a lot of people who love you and wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
“You’d be correct.”
“So thinkin’ about them helped you stop last time?”
“Right, but it’s not always enough.” I blow out a shaky breath. “I already used the razor before I called you. But I stopped after the first cut.”
“Are you bleedin’, Luke?” The fear in her voice adds to my guilt. Without even knowing who she is, I hate hearing how concerned she sounds.
“No, ma’am. It stopped. But it’s why I’m in the tub, so I didn’t make a mess.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you for havin’ the strength to stop when you did and for callin’ here. I know that couldn’t have been easy. But I need you to be straight with me. How many times have you cut tonight?”
“Just the one time, Delly. I promise,” I say sincerely.
She blows out a breath I don’t think she meant for me to hear because she quickly sucks in air to compose herself.
“Can you tell me why? Maybe we can talk it out.”
I’d rather hang up than say the words aloud, but I say them anyway. I’ve already admitted this much. Might as well keep going.
I tell her about the pain, the sadness that overcomes me, and the darkness that consumes my thoughts.
And how I sometimes need the relief to quiet the vile thoughts in my head and that relief comes from cutting my thighs until they bleed down my legs because that’s when my mind clears.
That’s when I focus on the physical pain instead of the mental pain and all the negative thoughts disappear.
“It’s a much-needed distraction from the depression, and even if it’s temporary, the physical pain is more bearable than the mental pain.”
And that barely scratches the surface.
“I’d like to say a prayer for you, Luke. Would that be okay?”
“Sure,” I say, although I haven’t prayed in years.
“It’s okay if it’s not your thing.” Her voice is soft and nonjudgmental.
Then I squeeze my eyes closed as she says her little prayer.
“I pray for your strength so you can remind yourself why you fight. I pray for the courage to seek help if you find yourself in this same position tonight. And I pray you feel worthy enough to get treatment because you deserve to be happy.”
“Thanks, Delly. I appreciate you takin’ time out of your night to speak with me. I’m sure you have a lot better things to do.”
“I volunteer at the church three evenings a week, so I assure you, it was no trouble.”
“Three times a week? Wow. Are you some kinda saint?” I half laugh because I haven’t been to church in years, even when my mom begs me to go.
“I enjoy helpin’ people,” she says without missing a beat. “And it was a pleasure to meet you even in these circumstances.”
Goddamn, she’s too sweet for her own good.
“How old are you, Delly?” I ask before hanging up.
“I’m almost twenty-three.”
So she’s about two years younger than me since I’ll be twenty-five soon.
That means she would’ve been a sophomore when I was a senior.
Everyone knows everyone in our small town, but her name isn’t ringing a bell.
Not surprised, though, because in between dealing with my depressive episodes, I drank in high school…
a lot. Shit, I still do. But also, I rarely paid attention to the underclassmen.
“And you’re spendin’ your Friday night answerin’ crisis hotlines instead of a bar?”
“Yeah, because if I don’t, who would’ve answered your call?”
“Hello, you reached the Haven Grace prayer crisis hotline. How can I assist you in prayer today?”
I smile when I hear her voice.
“Hi, Delly.”
“Luke, is that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“I am now.”
“Whaddya mean?”
I lift a shoulder even though she can’t see me. “It means…hearin’ your voice is what I needed to clear my head.”
She sighs happily as if she was expecting the worst. “Okay. What would you like to talk about, then?”
“I was feelin’ down and had the urge to cut but didn’t get out my blade this time.”
“I’m happy to hear that, Luke. Did somethin’ trigger you tonight?”
“Just a little self-deprecation.”
“Talk me through what’s goin’ on in your mind.”
And without hesitation, I do.
She’s the first person I’ve ever felt comfortable enough to spill those secrets. And even though it’s because she can’t see me and has no idea who I am, it’s still a weight off my chest to speak the words aloud to someone.
“You’re a good listener, Delly…” I say when the silence between us gets too loud.
“Thank you for sharin’ that with me.” She sniffles a few times before clearing her throat. “Truly.”
“Are you catchin’ a cold?”
“Um…no.” She sniffs again as if she’s trying to control her emotions. “Just havin’ a heavy night.”
“You?” I stammer. “I don’t like the sound of that. What’s goin’ on?”
She’s quiet as if she’s contemplating telling me.
“I had a caller before you that was quite challengin’.” Her voice cracks, deepening with sorrow. “I had another volunteer call 911 while I kept him on the phone. Safe to say, I was relieved when I heard your voice because it…”