Chapter Ten
Adelaide
I’m sore and happy about it when I wake up. Face down on my pillow and worn out to my bones.
I turn my head, a wide smile already creeping across my face.
Poe is on his back, mouth open as he breathes lightly. I’m surprised he isn’t snoring. He’s so relaxed, he looks like he melted into the mattress. The blanket he found at some point in the night is pushed down to his waist, revealing his strong body. I take my time watching him sleep, content to see him next to me.
I want to tickle him awake, but he seems completely comatose. With how the night went, I should be the same.
My stomach gives a low grumble of hunger, reminding me I just burned through a week’s worth of calories in one night.
I attacked him as soon as he walked in the door. Did he have dinner?
I wince and slide out of bed, hoping not to wake him. I dress in some shorts and a tank top. The apartment is plenty warm, the way I like it. Hopefully, he likes it, too. My electric bill will cry in the summer if he doesn’t.
I go about making breakfast, hoping he’s not allergic to anything. I don’t make it fancy, sticking to eggs, bacon and toast. I’m setting everything on my tiny table with two place settings, giddy that he’s here.
“What are you giggling about?” His raspy morning voice comes from the doorway.
I glance at him, startled out of my laughter. “I’m planning a trash heist. Will you be my getaway driver?”
He blinks sleepily, his lips tilting into a lopsided smile. “Always.”
My heart bangs in my chest like it’s trying to get out. Seeing him unashamedly naked and sleepy at my bedroom door is everything I need to start my day.
“Breakfast,” I pull out a chair for him, trying to play butler.
He yawns, running a hand through his wild hair as he grabs his slacks from the floor to dress before he takes a seat. I try to get to the other chair when my wrist is grabbed. Poe pulls me back until I drop into his lap. I could protest, but I’m where I want to be.
Instead of giving him a fake struggle, I nestle into him and plant a kiss on his neck. My head rests on his shoulder as if it always belonged there.
“Eat every bite and I’ll give you a reward.” My arms go around him, and the back of his chair.
He eats with me, still lounging on him, as if this is a typical day for him. It soothes a lot of the nerves I get when I start overthinking my shining happiness.
“Thank you for cooking,” he says in a soft voice, twirling his fork over what’s left of his eggs. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Did you have dinner before you came here last night?” I taunt him with a lazy smile. “I’ve got to keep you fed if you want to hit every available surface today.”
The laugh he lets out seems to heal his soul and mine at once. Whatever tension he had about the morning after washes out of him as he squeezes a hand over my knee.
“I’ll do the dishes,” he offers, surprising me. He sees the brow-raised look and frowns at me. “You cook; I’ll clean. I’m willing to make it a routine. My cooking is horrible.”
“Good thing you just hired a cook then,” I kiss his cheek. “I’ll take my payment in the form of orgasms. One for every meal.”
His lips tilt up in a wicked grin. “Only one? Don’t sell my need for food or you so short. It’s offensive.”
“I’m trying to keep you from performance anxiety,” I give him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “I’m worried about you.”
“That’s it.” He tilts me off his lap and onto my feet as I chuckle.
“You’re so easy to tease, cher .” I give him a quick kiss and slide his plate away to put in the sink.
I turn back to him, ready to tease him some more, and pause. All the humor has wiped out of his face, leaving his intent stare leveled on me.
He’s staring at my thighs. That laser focus is practically burning me.
I give myself a quick look, confused, until I spot what’s missing.
I didn’t notice that we worked the thigh highs off at some point in the night.
I wore shorts. I didn’t even think about it. Any of it.
I’m at home, my safe space where I don’t have to worry about anything. I’m so comfortable with him that I didn’t consider covering up? I didn’t think about the scars at all.
“Be right back,” I try to sound casual and fail miserably as I escape his stare.
Once I’m in the bedroom, I close the door and start digging through my pajamas for pants. Two pairs. Anything to cover this up so I can pretend that nothing happened.
He’s going to have questions. I know it.
A pair of fleece pants gets pulled on over the shorts. I sit on the edge of the bed and put my face in my hands, trying to compose myself. I didn’t ask about his scar. Maybe he’ll do me the same favor.
I don’t think that’s how this is going to go.
Everything was so easy. Too easy. I knew something would break that apart. I just wasn’t expecting it to be this.
A gentle tap at the door makes me cringe.
“Be right out,” I call. My voice is shaky with nerves, and the struggle to hold back my tears.
Only my old therapist knows the full story about the scars on my thigh.
Any relationship I’ve ever had slowly ground to a halt as soon as someone saw them, and I refused to explain it. A brush-off that sets nerves on edge with suspicion.
I’m ashamed of them. I did this to myself. Willingly . I don’t want to have an open discussion of how messed up I am.
It’s the final reason my last boyfriend gave for breaking up with me. I refused to talk about it with him several times, so he was convinced that the cutting was still happening. He didn’t want to be with a crazy chick. I’m sure he’s still expecting me to steal his dog or something.
I force myself to look at the leg with the marks. I don’t need to see them; they’re already branded in my head like a bad movie.
A garter of cuts, one inch long apiece. In as perfect a row as I could make them. A set of four, a space, four, space, all the way around as if I were trying to give myself a nice belt made of pain. The only place I could reasonably hide from my family was high up on my thigh. Right below the cuts, a raccoon is lying on its back, playing with a beach ball. The color of the ball hides the burn mark I gave myself.
I wanted to know how it felt for Asher.
The cigar butt I found in the street burned cold. I never imagined it could be like that. The wound got infected, and I had to convince Maman I had strep throat to get me to the doctor. She never went into the room with me to verify the story.
When the older man saw the mark and looked at my face, his disappointment was clear. He never asked a single question.
Asher went through this. Except he had our biological father breathing down his neck for every appointment.
Surrounded by unfeeling, oblivious people who toss a prescription at you and move on to the next patient.
I’d never felt as alone as I did then.
I decided that if I ever had the urge to do something like this again, I would be clean about it. No witnesses and no doctors.
I’m insane, and so selfish for doing it.
One cut for every scar I found on Asher. Thank God I stopped before I did his tattoos, although I was tempted to keep going once I realized he had two more than I had cuts.
I got therapy instead of hurting myself. I’m happy about that decision, but the itch is still there. What would two more matter?
A lot in the state of my mind.
It’s one thing for someone to be scarred up through tragedy. To do it to myself is another story.
Oh God, Poe is going to leave.
Of course, he is. I’m the antithesis of everything he stands for. How can I look at him after this?
“Siren. No questions, remember?”
My shoulders slump in defeat at the quiet, calm sound of his voice.
No questions.
I’m suddenly slapped in the face with the advice I gave Asher. To confess his secrets, like a side note, to people close to him. I’m such a hypocrite.
But I don’t have to be.
If Asher has the balls to tell Tera anything about his trauma, then I should have the guts to do the same.
I wipe my eyes quickly and brace myself for whatever comes.
“You can come in.”
He walks inside casually. There’s no tension in him. He has a faint smile when he takes in my position. He sits beside me, turning slightly so he can see my face, and takes my hand.
For all the calm he’s projecting, his hand is shaking. Between the two of us, our palms vibrate against each other. His grip is tight, like I’m about to slip away.
“Have I mentioned that my dad is a piece of crap?” I don’t know any other way to start this. I want him to understand, and I don’t at the same time. As if the lead-up is going to help make me less selfish.
“No.” He softens his favorite word gently, but his fingers tighten down on mine. Hard.
I can’t look at him for this. I don’t want to watch his face turn to his blank intensity. The look he gets when he’s dissecting a person from the inside out. I didn’t think about how that would feel while I was vulnerable.
“He was abusive to one of my family members.”
He sits quietly, with no questions. I guess he has a lot of experience with this kind of thing, being in the group. I hope he doesn’t go all therapist on me before he walks out. That would definitely knock me down for the count.
“Not me. I was his favorite. His princess ,” the words make me want to gag. My foot starts tapping on the floor with nerves. “I was never in any danger from him. Everybody knew it even after we found out about the abuse. It kind of broke me. To know that someone was living in fear while I was just happy to be loved.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out in a slow, measured exhale.
“I hate him so much. What he did tore everything apart for all of us. Some more than others. Why couldn’t he just be a normal dad? What fucked him up that much?”
“I don’t know.” His focus seems far away and close at the same time.
“Me either. I went through a stupid pity spiral. Why would he do that to someone and spare me? Spare anyone, really. How could he focus that much hate on one person? I punished myself for it. For being the favorite one. The one that could do no wrong in his eyes. The one that looked just like him. I wanted to know why so bad . And I didn’t want… the person he chose to be alone in it. I felt like I needed to suffer as some kind of apology or something. But I couldn’t tell anyone. It was selfish and wrong. I just couldn’t stop.”
I think for a minute, looking for the words to go on while he sits silently beside me. His fingers have tightened over mine, and my hand has loosened as if I can’t get the guts to hold him back.
“I got older, and I couldn’t take how much I hated myself. I stopped seeing him as evil and put that on myself. How selfish I was being. The pity I felt and didn’t deserve. I got help. You know, when I moved away from Maman’s watching eyes. I stopped. It helped, the therapy. I dug myself out, but sometimes I slip, and I get that urge again. It’s hard to fight it, but I stopped giving in to it.”
“While still punishing yourself.”
I look at him in surprise. He just ripped through me with one sentence.
His eyes meet mine. There’s no pity there. All I find is a solemn strength that’s bearing the weight of my confession in his own way. He’s upset, but not at me. His anger isn’t for me at all.
“You haven’t covered it up,” he says with a tight smile.
I blink and look at my covered thigh. I tattooed over the burn without hesitation. Long before I covered Asher’s body in flowers. It made things easier for me, and I hoped that the weird therapy of changing what I saw would help him.
So, why didn’t I cover the cuts, too?
I never thought about it before.
I feel like an idiot.
He’s right. I’m still punishing myself.
“I can’t reach some of them anymore,” I frown, really thinking about it. “I would have to let someone else see.”
“It’s a big hurdle,” he nods with pursed lips.
“You’re brave. I admire you a lot.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. Why I’m getting the look now baffles me.
“What? You motivated people to make a change. That’s a big hurdle, too. I’m nowhere near your level.”
“We might be climbing what you see as different ladders, but we’re still both going up. Who gives a shit what color the steps are?”
I stare at him, speechless. I throw myself into his arms, sobbing at his easy acceptance. He holds me so tightly, like he’s afraid I’m going to disappear and wants to stop it with everything in him.
He really is my perfect half. My One. We might be broken, but together, we make a formidable whole.