19. Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
R elapse. That’s all it was. Plenty of people did it. Carson tried to reassure herself as she wiped the blood from the hollow of her shoulder before pulling her shirt back down.
Standing in her laundry room, she faced the open junk drawer. A hefty wood screw lay on the small counter, watching her foolishly try to convince herself that what she had done was fine.
Lying in bed, Carson’s mind had been a blender, swirling with stressors. An opposing attorney was berating her for advising against their settlement proposal. A client was refusing to pay their bill because they didn’t like the outcome of their case. Garrett, her boss, was pushing her harder to become the best attorney she could be, in hopes of earning the junior partner position. Through it all, Carson longed to hold her husband one last time. Or even to hold her baby for the first time. And she still sought the courage to tell Jax about her inability to have children.
Then a thought had popped into her brain, silencing its whirring blades. It had been so long since she had done anything. She was allowed to treat herself, right? One time couldn’t be that bad.
Attraction .
Like an eel, she had slithered out of her bed into the dark hall to find a dull object. Something that couldn’t do a lot of damage, because then it would be okay. A screw was completely different from a knife. A screw was more acceptable. Surprisingly, a sharp screw could inflict a lot of damage when pressed hard enough into flesh.
As she stared down at the screw, the realization of what Carson had done sunk in.
Repulsion .
She ran out of the laundry room, back down the hall, and into her bathroom, not bothering with any lights. This wasn’t the first time she’d vomited in the toilet in the dark.
Kneeling in front of the porcelain, her sickness complete, Carson strained to hear if Jax stirred from the flush. It was silent except for the ticking of the clock on the wall.
I have to tell him . I have to tell him . . . right now .
With weak knees, Carson walked into her room like a person marching to their death. She might as well be dead, as her hands and feet were numb. She wasn’t even sure if she had a heart anymore, because nothing seemed to beat in her rib cage.
Gingerly, she sat on the bed, careful not to disturb Jax, though she was surprised that the ringing in her own ears didn’t wake him up. Gripping his shoulder, Carson shook it. He didn’t wake. She shook it again. This time he stirred.
“Jax?” Her voice wasn’t her own. Too low. Too shaky.
Finally, Jax sat up trying to find her in the dark. “What is it? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep.
“I hurt myself,” she said flatly.
“What?”
“I hurt myself,” she said again, louder this time. She didn’t blame him for not understanding, with her voice quivering so much.
There was a pause as the realization of what she’d said dawned on him.
Then the tears sprang from her eyes, and Carson began to sob into her hands. Behind her fingers a soft light switched on: the nightstand lamp.
“Where?” Jax asked, all sleep gone. His voice was so sharp, too sharp for her ears. When he forcefully snagged one of Carson’s arms, she dipped her face trying to hide her shame.
“Not my arms.”
“Where,” he demanded again, not asking this time.
Carson pointed to her left shoulder, then placed both of her palms back on her face. Jax tugged the collar of her T-shirt to expose what she had done.
“With what?” he asked.
So much agony. So much anguish.
“A screw.”
“A screw ?” he hissed, horrified. Probably thinking what someone had to do to cause that much damage with a screw.
The sobs continued. And she was hot. It was stifling in the room even though it was late fall outside.
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I don’t know,” Carson sputtered. That would have been such a simple solution, but in the intensity of the moment, it hadn’t occurred to her.
Then she felt Jax’s arms wrap around her. She shoved them away. “No!” she cried, her breath hitching. “Damn it, Jax, I don’t deserve your sympathy.”
Stunned, he stared at her.
“Stop being so nice to me,” she pleaded.
Jax gave her a look like a patient parent would give to their screaming child as they waited for the tantrum to finish. “Do you want me to be mean to you?” he asked, still aggravatingly calm .
“Yes!” She was loud again, knowing she was being hysterical but not caring. “Stop being so weak. Recognize that I messed up. I failed us. I failed you . Stand up for yourself for once and stop letting women walk all over you. Kristen did it, and now you’re letting me do it.”
Jax flinched as though Carson had just smacked him across the face, and instantly she regretted her words.
Except sadly, somewhere deep within her, she felt it necessary to say something, anything to get him to acknowledge the severity of her actions. She was tired of his undying patience, because she believed if she were to continue to self-harm, he would continue to be forgiving and let her.
What he seemed not to understand was that self-harm didn’t just affect her; it impacted him as well. Jax was absorbing how Carson treated herself. How was he supposed to go to bed at night, go to work, or hang out with his friends when she could hurt herself at any moment? The toll would slowly build up until Jax himself would snap.
“I do think what you are doing is wrong,” he said softly, the pain in his voice very clear. “I also think being mean to you will not help the situation.”
Carson took the hem of her shirt to wipe the tears from her face. “Then why can’t I stop?” she begged.
“You are stopping,” he reminded her. “How many times have you told me that you wanted to and didn’t do it?”
There had been a day, while Jax was on shift, Carson sent him a message. He’d suggested leaving the house to escape the solitude, which she did by taking a cold ride on her dirt bike. One morning she’d taken Dave’s advice and, instead of using a razor to mark her arms, used a pen to scribble dozens of illustrations all over her skin. She recalled the bemused expression on Jax’s face when he came home from work and saw her little art project.
The tears finally stopped. Her breakdown had peaked, plateaued, and now sloped downward. The trauma of giving in and hurting herself finally subsided enough that the fog in her head dissipated.
Clearing the frog in her throat, Carson said, “I just don’t understand how you can be so patient with me all. The. Damn. Time. Not only patient, but so accepting that I cut mys—”
“Don’t you ever think I accept you cutting yourself. Ever,” Jax said, his words saturated in bitterness. “I have, however, accepted the reason you did it.” His use of past tense wasn’t lost on her.
“Yes, but everyone has had someone in their life die and are completely normal.” Carson raised her voice again, frustrated. “Why can’t I just get over it? My family died five years ago, and I’m acting like it just happened. It’s been five years !”
Groaning, she dropped her head into her hands. Why couldn’t she just let their deaths go? It was exhausting holding on. The self-harm was exhausting. She was exhausted.
Raising her head, Carson looked at Jax. “Don’t forgive me for tonight. I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” she muttered.
His body turned to stone. “Are you sorry for taking a screw to your shoulder and shredding your skin?”
So blunt.
“Yes.”
It was the truth. Carson was sorry. Not only for breaking a promise to Jax, but for breaking a promise to herself. And she hated the way she currently felt. She had never felt like this before and never wanted to feel like this ever again.
“Then that’s good enough for me,” he said before switching the light off and rolling over to go back to bed.