by Samantha Bee
A twinge of pain draws my eyes back to my wrist. A thin, line forming after my knife as I continue to dig it in and drag it up towards my inner elbow.
One inch, a low throb. Two inches, a dull ache. Three inches, a stinging burn. Four inches. Oh, that hurts.
I lift the knife to stare at the damage left behind. The damage. My damage. My damage there written into my skin. My brokenness on display for anyone who cares to look.
It's not deep enough to cause any real damage. Not life threatening anyways. The blood still flows freely. A steady drip, drip, drip, tapping against the tile. A sound that shouldn't be soothing but somehow is. A sight that shouldn't bring comfort, so why does it?
Why do I feel more human in this moment than any other time since I left?
Without a second thought, my knife comes back to my wrist. I dig the tip in, a centimeter over from the first line, more centered this time. I dig it in just a little deeper. A shiver runs through me at the eruption of pain that feels a hell of a lot like bliss.
Maybe the voices in my head do know what they're talking about. An escape. A relief. Just leaving all the messes I've left behind. Forgetting. To forget never sounded so good, to fade never felt so sweet. Could I just end it all? In this one moment, just give up? Give in to my own damage?
It's not like I don't know exactly where to hit to push me past the line of redemption. Would anyone even notice? Would anyone even care?
The tip digs in a little further. I start dragging it back up, parallel to the first line. The blood flows faster, dripping at a steadier pace. My hand moves of its own volition before I had even really thought about it.
One inch. I shake my head. Two inches. I gasp. Three inches. The tears fall from my face.
I snap out of it.
I pull the knife away from my skin and stare down in horror at what I've done.
Is this who I am now? Have I really fallen this low?
I grab the first aid kit and quickly apply pressure to the wounds. Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision as I try to clean up yet another mess I've made. It seems to be all I'm capable of these days anyway.
A violent sob wracks through my body as my hand shakes holding the bandage to my wrist. I do my best to clean and wrap the cuts through the trembles overtaking me.
I need to get out of here. Out of this bathroom. Out of this apartment. Out of my fucking head. I can't do this.
I wipe the blood up off the counter and floor and toss the towels in the trash as I go. My feet take me into my room without conscious thought as I strip out of my clothes once more. I pull on jeans and a flowy silver tank top with no thought. I run my fingers through my now damp hair and tame it into a fishtail braid before moving over to the small vanity in the corner of the room.
I wipe the tears from my face and slowly apply my battle armor. Thick, black eyeliner, golden highlighter, a light blush, a bit of bronzer and finishing it with a generous amount of black mascara. I study my face, content that you can no longer see the cracks in my exterior. I hesitate before grabbing a deep burgundy colored matte lipstick. I don't think I can handle the vibrancy of red right now.
After pulling my jeans up for the fourth time I head back to the closet and grab a thin black belt. Weird. These pants used to fit perfectly. I shake the thought off as I grab my suede gray heeled booties and a black leather jacket to finish the look.
I wasn't planning on going to the bar tonight. It hasn't helped, but anything is better than staying here and having to face what I almost just did. I'm not ready to face that truth. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Chapter Two
I sit at the bar with a glass of whiskey in front of me. I twirl it around and suppress the sigh that wants to escape my lips.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to lose myself in the crowds and music. I haven’t been able to. Not even once since the night I left. I thought I could chase the feelings away the same way I always have. I came here the night I ran. Why I chose this bar? I couldn’t tell you, but I’ve been back almost every night since.
Nothing stops the words from running through my mind on a never ending, maddening loop though. Driving me further and further into emotional and physical exhaustion. I wasn’t planning on coming back, not tonight, maybe not ever. But anywhere is better than being alone in the bathroom. I don’t know that I trust myself to be alone.
I halfheartedly throw my drink back and examine the room to see if anyone or anything catches my interest. I just need a distraction. Anything to make me forget just how broken I am. I tug on the sleeves of my jacket as my eyes swing around the room.
I’ve danced with a few guys before, and even tried to take some of them home. I just can’t seem to follow through once they put their hands on me.
They don’t feel as good as Kade’s big hands on my hips, it doesn’t make me shiver in anticipation like when Noah whispers in my ear. They don’t give me those damn tingling sensations in my belly like Luca or even Ryder give me.
No matter how much I scream my denials to myself, I miss my guys. What the hell am I going to do about that?
A sigh escapes me despite my best efforts. A dark, throaty chuckle draws my attention to a man a few seats down from me at the bar.
I look over and meet gray-blue eyes, studying me with a heavy gaze, making me feel like a bug under a microscope. He gestures to the bartender to refill my drink before moving closer to me. He has short blonde hair that’s just a little longer on the top but not long enough to fall into his face.
He tilts his head, allowing me to check out his strong jawline. He’s attractive in an almost aristocratic way, masculine in every way. The exact type of guy I would normally be attracted to, but even he can’t get me out of my slump. I don’t think anyone could. It feels like cheating and twists my insides as I think about the guys.
I arch my brow at this guy’s bold move as he settles next to me. The waitress drops another drink in front of me. I slowly take a sip as I wait for him to say something.
“You’ve been here quite a bit recently.”
It’s not a question, just an observation. He’s not wrong, but I have nothing to add to that statement so I just shrug. I’m not someone who feels the need to fill every silence with mundane chatter. He made the move, if he wants to talk, he can go ahead and do that.
“You’ve given more than a few of my coworkers blue balls.” I don’t normally get offended by anything, this is no different. Especially because I hear nothing but amusement in his voice.
I decide to bite. “Is that an accusation?”
He releases another throaty chuckle as he appraises me. “Nah, I think it’s good for some of these guys to be taken down a peg or two.”
I smile and it just might be the first one I’ve been able to manage since leaving the guys. He still has no chance at getting into my pants. I don’t know when I’ll ever be able to get over the sick feeling I get in my stomach at even the thought of moving on with someone else. “You think you have a better shot?”
He takes a sip of his own drink before shaking his head. “I don’t think you need a good fuck.”
I tilt my head, slightly confused by the turn in this conversation. “What is it that I need then?”
“Not to be creepy,” he starts, “but I’ve been watching you these last couple weeks.” He’s right, it could totally be construed as creepy, but something about him doesn’t make my guard immediately go up. My gut is rarely wrong about these things.
I wait for him to answer the question since he still hasn’t. He doesn’t disappoint. “I don’t think you need the fuck you’ve been coming here looking for. That’s why you always end up going home alone.” He pauses as he continues to stare at me over his drink. “I think you need a friend.”
I feel my spine straighten at his words. He really has been paying a lot of attention to me these last few weeks. “What?” I demand. “You think you’re gonna be that friend?”
He looks around the bar dramatically. �
�You see any better options?”
An almost foreign sounding chuckle escapes my lips. “I guess I can concede that point.”
“Great.” He grins, showing off perfectly straight white teeth. Everything about him is perfect and polished. A part of me wants to find a flaw with him so I can pick at it. He’s almost too perfect. It makes me want to tarnish him. “Congrats on being my new best friend.”
Oh, look at that, he’s a cocky bastard too. I roll my eyes but a smile tugs at my lips. He reminds me a little bit of Kade with his arrogance flowing out around us. “So now tell me, what does a friend do to lift your spirits?”
I feel my defenses go up a little bit. “What makes you think I need my spirits lifted?”
He gives me a small smile. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a gorgeous girl, but that’s not what had me enraptured by you.” He shakes his head almost sadly. “No, it was the sadness that clings to you like a second skin that had my eyes following your every move whenever I saw you.”
An overwhelming feeling of loneliness invades every molecule of my body, weighing down on me. I’ve been broken, angry, even numb, but through all the shit I’ve ever been through I’ve never had anyone tell me sadness clings to me. I can’t even be upset with him because he isn’t wrong.
I’ve never felt more weighed down in depression than I have been since I left the guys. I haven’t even talked to Luca. It’s the longest I’ve gone without him in eight years. It only makes me realize just how much I’ve grown to depend on not only him but the other guys as well.
I don’t know how to respond to his words, all I can do is nod and wait for him to say something else.
“You don’t have to tell me about it.” His tone softer than it was only moments ago. “So, what do you normally do to turn your mood around?”
The chuckle I let out is hollow and cold sounding. “Get lost in alcohol and someone else’s body,” I answer.
He hums. “Well, that clearly isn’t working.” He taps his fingers along the bar as he thinks. “I have an idea.” He grins all of a sudden and it softens his features.
He motions for the bartender and hands her his card and pays for both of our tabs. As she turns her back, I study him. “Why do you want to be my friend? Do you think this is the way to get in my pants or something?”
He huffs out a laugh. “Maybe I just realize there’s more to a pretty girl than just as a way to get my dick wet.”
I scoff. No one is just that nice without wanting something for themselves.
He shrugs. “Maybe I don’t like how sadness mars your features. Maybe you remind me of someone. Or maybe I need a friend too, and for some reason my gut thinks you’d be a good person to have on my side.”
The bartender hands him his card back as well as a receipt for him to sign. I take his words at face value, I have a feeling there’s a bit of truth in each of his reasons.
It’s the first time I’ve felt even a bit of relief from the relentless heartache since leaving. Maybe a friend is exactly what I need. Being alone scares me. I’ve become terrified of the woman in the mirror.
So when he gets up with an easy grin and his blue eyes lighting up in excitement, I follow him. When he offers his hand to lead me out of the bar, I take it. And I don’t look back. What else do I have to lose? How much farther could I possibly fall?
It turns out his bright idea to cheer me up was tacos, specifically street tacos from a hole in the wall shop I had never even heard of. It also turns out that he wasn’t wrong. I take another bite of carne asada taco and groan. These are by far the best fucking tacos I have ever had. I look back at the older gentleman making them, a huge grin on his face as he sends a wink my way. I wonder if I could steal him.
“You look like you want to take him home with you,” my new friend jokes.
“I kind of do,” I mumble around my mouthful. He said we were friends now, so doesn’t that mean he can’t judge my lack of manners? I guess if we are friends, I should probably learn his name.
He grins down at me. “I told you they would cheer you up. But I’m not done, follow me.” He reaches his hand back out to me and I don't hesitate in taking hold of it once again as he drags me down another dark street.
I swallow the rest of my taco before pointing out. “You know, if I’m going to continue following you down dark, empty streets, I really feel like I should know your name.”
He stops abruptly and it causes me to walk right into his back. I mumble a curse as he turns back to me with wide eyes. “Shit, I never introduced myself, did I?” I shake my head and he lets out a half chuckle, half groan. “I’m realizing I don’t actually know your name either,” he admits.
“Probably not the best way to start a friendship,” I tease. For some reason, this banter comes so easily with him. He’s the first person I’ve been able to just relax around and trade jokes with. A heavy feeling settles in my gut as the guilt comes roaring back. Why should I be enjoying myself when I know I left the guys hurting? It doesn’t feel like I should even be allowed to smile. Then why have I been trying so hard to forget?
I shake my head trying to clear it. Battling with myself over the doubts as the guilt consumes most of my thoughts, threatening to drown me on a daily basis. I just can’t seem to get my feet on solid ground. The only time I feel any sense of calm is when I take another target down, but even that high isn’t as high without seeing Kade’s smug face next to me, or hearing Luca’s praise as we give him the rundown, or seeing Ryder’s own chaos calm in hearing the details. I hate that even my revenge isn’t as sweet without them.
“Hey, pretty girl, where did you go?” My new friend wraps his arms around me, pulling me out of the brain fog I was getting lost in.
“Scarlett,” I say as I look up at him. I don’t know why I use that name instead of Scar. It’s hardly left my lips since I chose this name for myself eight years ago. I became Scar to anyone and everyone. Really the only people to ever use Scarlett have been Joe and Charlene, and I’m fairly sure it’s their version of full naming me the way all parents do. It’s simultaneously a loving and threatening gesture. I can’t help the “oh shit” feeling whenever one of them uses it on me.
So why the hell do I use it to give this guy? I have no idea. Maybe being Scar is just too tiring right now. Maybe I want to put some distance between myself and the girl I’ve become in trying to get my revenge. Have I fallen so far that I’m willing to hurt and leave behind the only people who have had my back?
I can’t even deny anymore that I regret leaving. I regret leaving my old tracker with Joe and replacing it with a new one that only he knows about. I regret ditching my phone without so much as a word to Luca, Noah, and Ryder. Kade is the only one who even got a goodbye and what a shit one it was.
They all deserve better. Even the fact I left the way I did shows just how much I’m not worth any single one of them, let alone all of them. Too damaged to love, too broken to be loved. Leaving them was the most selfish thing I have ever done. I was scared, terrified really. Scared of what loving them meant, scared I wouldn’t get my revenge, scared they would see just how fucked up I am and walk away.
I left for purely selfish reasons. I won’t deny that or try to play the martyr. I was a fucking bitch who only cared about myself and my revenge. That’s why I walked out. Now that I’m gone though? I can see just how destructive I am to those around me.
Luca never intended to rise the ranks of the criminal underworld until he did it to protect me. Kade ignored his mixed and complicated feelings over his past to support Luca and then pushed himself even more into a killer for my sake. Who even knows what Ryder got dragged away from. He says nothing important now that his sister is gone, but I know he never would have killed a soul if it weren’t for us. He would have been better off if someone else had saved him or if we had sent him away. And Noah. Sweet fucking Noah. What would I do about him? Drag his gentle and kind soul into the raging waters that is my life?
How could I p
ossibly live with myself if I continue to put them through this hell just so I can get my revenge? I wish I was stronger, braver, more capable to be who they deserve. But I’m not. All I am is a girl drowning in her demons, too consumed to be anything for anyone. Even if they do spark something in me that isn’t anger. At this point, I realize they’re better off without me.
“You have a million thoughts swimming in that head of yours, pretty girl.” His deep voice once again draws me back into the present and away from the four men who dominate my head space. “The more I let you think, the faster you sink back into that darkness.” He squeezes my hand again as he begins pulling me back down the street.
“So come on, Scarlett, we are leaving trouble behind for now. I’m going to show you how to get lost without the alcohol or the feel of another body sliding against yours.” He turns back and smiles over his shoulder. “And my name is Declan.”
His grin tugs at something in me. I push away the guilt, the doubts, all the pain of being the woman in the mirror. Getting lost is exactly what I need. “It’s nice to officially meet you, Declan.”
I can feel the disconnect between myself and reality. I know I'm still here, sitting in my living room that doesn’t feel like mine, staring at the black television screen in front of me. I know I'm sitting on the black leather couch that I bought without a second thought. I know I'm running my toes through the white faux fur rug. I know how soft it should be, but I can't feel any of it.
I can barely feel the heart beating in my chest or the long, slow breaths being dragged out of my lungs. I don't hurt. Nothing hurts. I tilt my head to the side as I study the blank screen in front of me.
Why didn't I turn it on?
Why am I sitting out here?
I can't remember.
I feel like I'm forgetting something. It's just on the edge of my brain but I can't reach it. It's just out of my reach, fluttering on a nonexistent breeze as I stretch my fingers trying to wrap it around the thought and pull it back to me.