Chapter 25 #2
I attempted to roll onto my back, but Enoch swept my hair out of the way and gasped. No. No, no, no. I hated that I couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t see what he was thinking or feeling.
My skin pricked with goosebumps as he traced the crisscrossed lines stretching diagonally across my shoulders and back. Enoch sniffled, his breathing loud and shaky, and I realized he was crying. My stomach churned.
“Who?”
I shook my head, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand to my chest so he would stop touching them.
“Your brother or…Los Siete?”
How did I tell him that I’d been punished in the name of God because I was guilty of too many sins?
That I willfully took the belting to ease my guilt.
That the belt had only changed to a new weapon, a blade, because I needed to watch the blood trickling down my pale skin.
Because purging the evil made it easier to live with myself.
Easier to live with myself when I was hurting on the outside as much as I hurt on the inside.
I shook my head again, holding onto his hand like it could help me keep the secrets buried.
“Baby, please,” he rasped, shifting off the bed until I felt his breath on my face.
My throat burned with pent up emotion.
“Your dad?”
“No,” I croaked.
The silence dragged and I internally screamed. What the fuck else could I say except for the truth? He wanted honesty, but the truth fucking hurt.
“I told you before. I was…in a relationship.”
Enoch sniffled, gingerly resting his free hand on my hip. “Those aren’t normal scars. Those are…”
“A belt.”
There was a long moment of silence, Enoch’s thumb gently rubbing my hip.
“Was he a member too?”
I shook my head.
Enoch’s head landed on my shoulder. The silence was too loud.
He pressed a kiss to my skin and I shivered.
The comforter landed over my body and Enoch climbed onto the bed, his hand still trapped against my chest as he pressed my back to his front, his legs curling around my own beneath the blanket.
His breath was warm against my cold, damp hair.
“The other scars and the fresh cuts…That wasn’t your ex.”
It was there, unspoken, but he was calling me out. He knew. Knew I was the one abusing myself these days. The pressure built inside my chest until I felt like I might implode. I finally cracked, another sob wracking my body.
“How did-how did you stop?”
Enoch was silent and I wondered if he would answer me. He stretched his trapped hand flat against my chest, my heart pounding beneath his palm and he shushed me. He didn’t speak until the breath was back in my lungs.
“God, Jae, and a lot of really hard work.” My jaw clenched. “But I had to want things to change first.” Enoch paused, pressing a kiss to my head. “Do you want to stop?”
I chewed my lip, my heart skipping in my chest.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Okay,” he said, like it was that simple. He kissed my head once more. “Okay.”
I pulled the towel off of my face and let it drop to the floor before turning into Enoch’s chest.
“I love you,” he said, holding me firmly against him. “I. Love. You.”
We stayed a tangled mess of limbs, the sound of our breathing ticking each passing second. After what felt like hours, Enoch suddenly broke the silence.
“Dear Jesus, please give Shiloh the strength to stop. Give Shiloh the strength to let herself heal. Give her the courage to come to me or to seek help when she’s tempted to hurt herself. In Your name we pray, Amen.”
It was clear I wasn’t going to be able to stop on my own.
That much I knew. The question was, did I believe that God, the same one that had let me be raped, the same one whose words had been used to punish and abuse me by the people who claimed to follow Him, did I believe that God loved me enough to help me stop hurting myself?
Enoch brushed a hand down my hair as he pressed a kiss to my forehead.
“I’m,” I stumbled, my jaw clenching. I just wanted them out of my head; I wanted them to stop controlling me. God, if you love me, if you care, make me brave. I took another breath. “I’m sorry.”
My stomach flipped and I released a soft sigh. There. You did it. I took another breath. Thank you.
“Shh,” Enoch soothed, tipping my chin up. “You don’t need to apologize for coping.”
He pressed his mouth to mine, all the unspoken words forming in his kiss, like a balm to my broken soul.
He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.
It was a chant in my mind. A reminder that there was hope. A way to drown out every other lie in my head.
Enoch pulled away, tucking me closely beneath his chin.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he said softly.
“It’s okay.”
“I should have left a note or texted you.”
My eyes burned, a sign the swelling was beginning to subside as I tried to blink them open. I kept them shut, listening to Enoch’s breathing.
“When’s the last time you hurt yourself?”
I cringed.
“Two days.”
“That’s good. Really good.”
Yeah right.
“I want to help.” He paused to take a breath, his fingers combing through my hair. “And I think the first thing to do is get rid of everything you use.”
I shrugged, mentally cataloguing the various sharps hiding in the apartment.
“Have you spoken to your therapist about this?”
“No.”
“Will you tell her?”
I chewed my lip. It was already unbearable just to tell Enoch. I didn’t want anyone else to know.
“She’ll be able to help,” Enoch coaxed. “You can talk to me, but it’s easier sometimes to talk to a third party. That’s why I go to meetings and talk to my sponsor. The more people you have in your corner, the easier it is to be held accountable.”
I sighed, “Okay.”
“Can you tell me where you keep what you use?”
I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, but I took a deep breath and rolled onto my back.
“My bathroom…My backpack.”
Enoch shifted on the bed, and I felt his weight leave.
I pulled the blanket up over my head, curling back into a ball. The sound of him rummaging through my things made my stomach churn. My mind was already coming up with ways to replace everything he was going to find, and, on instinct, my nails curled into fists, digging into my flesh.
Fuck.
My breath hitched and I refused to cry again.
I unfurled my fists, blowing out a deep breath.
“My nails,” I said as I heard Enoch step back into my bedroom.
“Hmm?”
I pulled the blanket off of my head and left my palms face up on the mattress.
“My nails.”
Enoch’s fingers traced the raw skin of my palms. I heard him step into the bathroom before he returned, seated on the bed beside me.
He lifted one of my hands into his lap, his fingers holding one of my own straight. Enoch proceeded to clip and file all of my fingernails. I curled my fingers in when he finished the first hand and sighed when they were too short to do any real damage.
I managed to open my eyes to a blurry image of Enoch when he’d finished filing them all. His eyes flicked down to meet mine and he smiled at me.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I murmured back.
“You want to get dressed while I make some food?”
I appreciated that he wasn’t asking any more questions and I nodded. He leaned down, kissing me slowly before pulling away.
“I’m proud of you.” He gave me a soft smile before leaving the bedroom.
I tried not to over think, tried not to let my insecurity turn to anger.
I was grateful for Enoch, grateful he wanted to help me.
It didn’t mean I liked it. Didn’t mean I wasn’t itching to lash out, push him away, hide.
Only time would tell if it stuck this time.
If I actually stopped torturing myself. If God answered my prayers.