25. TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-FIVE
DUNCAN. DUNCAN. DUNCAN.
My name crudely carved over and over in the flesh of his thighs with gashes so deep that they don’t quite seem fully healed. Panic sets in as my attention keeps shifting between the horrible mess he’s made of himself and the horrifyingly happy expression he has.
“For you,” he inches closer, “I did it for you.”
“But why?” There’s so many better questions I could’ve asked, but that’s the first one that came to mind. “W-Why would you do this to yourself?”
He scoffs like it’s so obvious. “Because you’re special to me. I’m yours. I-I know… I know you don’t want me right now… but when you do…”
It’s really so irksome about how presumptuous he is about everything. Does he really think this is going to end with us falling in love? Having a normal life? How would he explain those marks to people? It’s crazy—it’s insane, even.
“I don’t… I don’t know what to say,” I admit. “It’s…”
When my head raises up at him he’s giving me the softest, most eager-to-please look. Why does it still make my stomach sink to think about being mean to him? I know that everything is so unbelievably fucked up, but… he’s clearly not well. That’s obvious.
Can I really blame him for all of this? It must’ve been the first time in his entire life someone saw him. Someone protected him. This is wrong, but he must not have known what else to do.
Haley would yell at me for making excuses, and the worst thing is she’d be right. I don’t need to try and justify this to anyone, let alone myself. But there’s something about him that I can’t even explain. I want to… fix him, or something. It’s honestly a joke that writes itself.
I know it’s stupid. I can’t fix this. I can’t fix someone willing to go to such extreme lengths. I can’t fix someone who literally broke my legs. But the pompous asshole in me thinks I could.
Not that he deserves it. He could grovel his entire life and he’d still never deserve it.
“Let’s go to bed.” I’m not tired at all since I slept the entire day, but according to the window it’s dark outside which means we should really just sleep.
Finn doesn’t move. “...You don’t like it.”
“I’d never want anyone to hurt themselves for me. That’s all.”
“It didn’t hurt, though. I-I wanted to do it. It felt… right, I think.”
My brow raises. “You think?”
“I know,” he corrects. “Please don’t be mad at me. I… you have a lot to be mad about, I know. But… I wanna be better. I can be better, it’s… scary. B-But I can do it. I’ll do it for you.”
“You should want to do it for yourself, Finn.”
Finn’s expression sours, and he huffs. “I’m nothing. I’m not worth anything. But you… you cared. You care. I know you do. So, I have to try. For you. I wish you could understand…”
His train of thought isn’t making any sense, but I know better than to try and argue with him. I’m nothing if not a fast learner. “Okay. If… If that’s what you think.”
I go to turn back on my other side. It should probably hurt a lot more to move the way I am, but I’m so doped up on painkillers it’s a mild annoyance at best. I know that’s not forever. Once it wears off I’m going to be in the most agonizing pain I’ve felt in my life.
But Finn doesn’t let me get away, pulling me flush against his chest instead.
“You’re mad. Don’t be mad at me. Couples… couples shouldn’t go to bed when they’re mad at each other. I-I saw that online.”
I wince at the c-word. “I’m not mad. Just… concerned, I guess.”
“Because you care.” Finn pulls me in even closer, planting a ton of kisses on top of my head. “You care about me. I care about you, too.”
“Yeah,” I concede. “I do care about you, Finn.”
He practically squeals at the revelation, giggling to himself before nuzzling against me with a desperate whimper. “I love you, Dunk. So much. I love you, I love you, I love you…”
It goes on like that for far too long. Despite his death grip and babbling I manage to fall asleep, waking up all on my own in his scary ass room. The birds outside are chirping, and I guess it snowed last night since a thin sheet of the stuff is covering everything.
Dragging myself to the edge of the bed, I do my best to peer out the four-paned window. Maybe I was hoping to see another building outside, something that lets me know we aren't out in the middle of nowhere.
But it’s only trees. Miles and miles of trees.
Yawning, my eyes dart around the room in a weak attempt to make sense of things.
In the bright morning sun it’s easier to make out the little details, like how dirty the carpet is or how there doesn’t seem to be any photos of anyone anywhere.
No childhood photos, no family photos, just…
nothing. Empty frames with nothing inside.
A wooden model sits on top of his shelf, and my heart flutters for the briefest second. It’s the same one from that time we went to the mall. It makes me oddly happy to know he ended up doing it. I knew he could.
The door is open a crack, and I can hear the sizzling of something in the kitchen. His house doesn’t seem all that big, so I can’t be noisy if I wanna snoop. The bed isn’t super high off the ground, but I still have no clue how to get down.
Landing on my chest sounds great until I actually do it, since my legs follow shortly after and slam into the carpet which isn’t as soft as I hoped it would be. Squeezing my eyes shut, I take a few shallow breaths.
Rolling over onto my back hurts. The pain only worsens over time. Radiating throughout my whole body, coursing through every vein and making sure I know how fucked I am.
But when my eyes open again the pain is the last thing on my mind. His popcorn ceiling is a pale light gray, but you can’t see most of it since every square foot is covered with some type of photo.
Photos of me. Selfies from my Instagram. Posts from my family members that tagged me on Facebook. Screenshots from the gas station’s CCTV footage. I’m going to be sick.
They get worse towards the middle of the ceiling. Blurry pictures printed out onto plain white paper, showing me walking around town. Pictures from outside my room looking in. Sleeping. Dimly lit photos of me sleeping taken from inside my room.
“Dunk? I heard a noise, are you—?” Hinges squeak as the door opens fully, with Finn stopping dead in his tracks the minute he realizes he’s been caught. “That’s not… it’s not what you think.”
“You stalked me?”
“...I’m sorry.”
“Stop saying that,” I mumble through grit teeth. “You’re not f-fucking sorry. You can’t be.”
Finn looks down at me before hoisting me up onto the bed, sitting me upright. “I am. I really am. It’s weird. I-I know it’s weird. Please, Duncan. Please—”
“Please what? Why the hell are you always saying that? What do you want?”
“I love you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I-I do, Dunk! I love you, I really do!”
“Stop calling me that!” All I can see is red. “No you don’t! You… you’re insane!”
Despite being useless from the waist down I lunge at him, hitting at his chest with my fists balled up tight. Tears roll down my cheeks, each hit weaker than the last. This is so pathetic. I’m so pathetic.
“It’s okay,” he coos with a sniffle. Even though I’m trying to hurt him he holds me tight, brushing his nose against my hair. “You’re okay, Duncan.”
He fiddles with something in his pocket, gently nudging me back so I can't give my attention to anything other than him. I’m sure I'm hideous right now, with nasty eye bags and a permanent scowl. But Finn eats me up with his eyes in a way that makes me feel special, like my flaws don't matter.
It’s not until our lips tentatively meet that I realize we’re kissing. He’s clumsy, clearly not used to this at all. His tongue feels too thick and wet, pushing past my lips to force my mouth open just a bit. Only when I swallow something small and circular do I realize he’s tricked me.
But by then it’s too late.