“Yeah, but in all fairness, I kind of have them coming. And they sting, but it’s not like you’re really hurting me, so I’m not complaining. Can we go somewhere? For me to show you what I’ve been doing?” Instead of in the living room with everyone silently watching them and making him uncomfortable.
Bran shook his head, and Chris knew he wasn’t going to get off that easily. “Nope. Right here. And you better have worn some underwear.”
“You’re in luck,” Chris said, rolling his eyes as he leaned back to undo the button, then the zipper, of his shorts. Once they were open, he pulled the waistband of his underwear down just enough for Bran to see the scars over his hips. He looked at Bran, watching his expression as he looked down at the dozens of small cuts. The fear had turned into worry, and a sadness so deep Chris wanted to cry right along with him as Bran touched each small scar, as if he was trying to count them.
“How many of these are new? Since college, I mean?” Bran quietly asked him as he kept tracing the faint marks with his fingers.
“Fifty-seven,” Chris instantly responded. He’d always kept track of them. Sometimes he’d been able to go for a week without cutting. Sometimes it had been a few times a day. Workdays and Saturdays after lunch with his parents were always the hardest.
Bran just sat back and shook his head, looking miserable. “I want to strangle you right now. If I didn’t love you so much, I probably would.”
“I know.” Chris took the chance of being hit again and leaned over him, wrapping his arms around Bran’s shoulders and laying his forehead against Bran’s neck. “Believe me, I do know.”
Chapter Ten
CHRIS WANTED to cry as he felt Bran wrap his arms around him to hold him tight. His heart pounded in his ears, and he battled to hold back the tears as the intense fear and emotion of the last few months burst forth.
“I missed you so much,” Chris whispered to him as he hugged Bran tighter. He knew the other guys were still there, silently hanging out less than ten feet from him, and he was thankful that they’d stayed so quiet, but he knew that likely wouldn’t last.
Bran withdrew, and a deep frown creased his forehead. “What the hell was Misha thinking by leaving you on your own? He promised to keep a close eye on you, and you also promised to ask if you needed help. Why, Chris? We’re your friends, and if that’s not what we’re there for, why call us that?”
Chris pulled back and fixed his shorts before sliding off Bran’s lap and sitting down next to him on the couch. He could see Samuel if he turned his head to look at him, but he was trying not to see his face and desperately needed to resist the urge to crawl into his lap.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said with a loud sigh.
“Of course I wouldn’t,” Bran snapped at him. “I’m not the one hurting myself all the time. Tell me something. Anything. Help me figure out why you’re doing this again. Maybe we can come up with a solution together.”
“I don’t like doing it, but in some sick, twisted way, it helps. If you don’t have the same problem, you won’t get it.” Chris looked at the rug on the floor, feeling very exposed in front of them all as the weak freak. “Can we talk about something else? Like, Trent, how are the cows?”
It was a desperate attempt at getting out of answering Bran’s questions, and Trent absolutely did not look like he wanted any part of helping Chris at that moment as he glowered at him from across the room.
“Don’t you do that,” Bran growled. “Don’t try to distract me. Give me one good reason why you need to slice yourself open all the damn time.”
Chris looked Bran straight in the eye without backing off. “Because as the flesh opens up and blood flows, so does the pain. It flows out and lessens the pressure inside. It’s an amazing relief, euphoric almost. And there, right there in your eyes, is why I couldn’t tell you this. Because you won’t get it and you will worry yourself sick. Over me. Again.”
“You sound like an addict,” Bran accused him.
Chris only shrugged. “Maybe I am. But this is better than ruining someone else and destroying relationships and marriages like I did when I was having sex with strangers. I’m lucky I’m not dead for how many guys I’ve been at the mercy of. This way there’s only me and I’m in control over everything. It’s the only thing I’ve ever really been in control of. So excuse me for being screwed up and needing this. I never said I was perfect.”
He took a shuddering breath and dragged his fingers roughly through his hair. “And I didn’t come to you because you would have jumped on the first plane back to Manhattan, and your life is here now. I didn’t want you to help me because it would have meant messing things up for you here. I’ve never once put your needs above my own, and I decided to this time. You want the truth? There it is. I cut myself, I freaked out, I called Samuel, I got on a plane, I came down here, and then I ran into you while I was buying you a whole ton of chocolate in the hopes that you’d forgive my sorry, lying ass.”
Chris’s heart broke some more when Bran pushed him off and walked to Kaden, where he climbed into his lap as Chris wanted to do with Samuel. Their intimate connection and love was tangible across the room, with Bran fitting into Kaden’s arms easily for comfort. Chris shook his head and had to look away before he really did start crying.
“I should go,” he quietly said.
“But you just got here,” Bran complained.
Chris forced himself to look at Samuel and meet his gaze. He looked worried, and Chris knew he had every right to be. “Did you get my text?”
Samuel nodded sadly. “I did.”
“And? Did you bring it?” Chris nearly whined. He needed it before he could go back to Manhattan. He had kitchen knives at home, of course, but they didn’t cut like that one did, and he didn’t trust them to work properly.
Samuel sat forward on his seat. “It’s in my truck outside. Do you want me to get it?”
“What are you two talking about?” Bran interrupted them.
Chris glanced away from Samuel to focus on Bran again. Knowing that his kit was there, within easy access, was some relief. “The knife I use to cut myself. The one we got in Colorado when we went snowboarding a few years ago. Samuel was hanging on to it for me.”
Bran frowned at him. “Why in the hell would you need it now?”
Chris pulled one of his knees up to his chest and locked his hands around his ankle. “Because I’m going to need it when I go back to Manhattan.” He turned back to Samuel. “Right now isn’t necessary, but before I go I’ll need to get it.”
Bran openly stared at him, and Chris flinched under his gaze. “What?” He tried not to snap, but his nerves were wearing thin.
“You’re going back. Seriously? You tell me you’ve been cutting for the past four months, and now you’re going back to Manhattan? Are you insane?” Bran yelled.
Why everyone assumed he’d be leaving his home was beyond him. Maybe they were the ones who were crazy, not him. “I live there,” he slowly reminded Bran.
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Bran snapped. “Maybe you should move away from your controlling, homophobic father and figure out your own damn life for once!”
“Where should I go? Here? What is there for me here? Seeing as I’m the freak no one wants and thinks belongs in a mental institution.” Chris felt completely outnumbered. “Screw this. Actually, Samuel, I do need my kit. I’m going to the airport now.”
Bran jumped up and tackled him before he could get two feet away from the couch. “Not if I say you’re not.”
Chris loved him for his stubbornness and his determination. But he wasn’t going to win. Not in this. “Kidnapping is illegal here too. Seriously, Bran. I’m okay. Cutting is normal for me. And I don’t feel like shit after it like when I’m with strange men. I honestly did stop drinking, and I haven’t had a dick in my ass since before Montana. You can let me go and not worry about me. Everything is fine. I just cut. It’s not as big of a deal as you’re making it. Or as Samuel make
s it, for that matter. Think of it like smoking, which is actually a lot more dangerous.”
Bran watched him in horror. “Samuel, I guess you were right back in Montana. He is intent on killing himself, and I never saw it.”
Chris had no idea what he was talking about, but he was scowling as he turned to look at Samuel. “You thought I was suicidal? I’ve never once tried to kill myself.”
Samuel glared at Bran before looking at Chris. “No, I said you were both so destructive and that you are gonna get hurt if you carry on the way you were. I was right, because you are hurting yourself, aren’t you? When is a little, shallow cut not going to be enough, and it gets deeper to help as your stress levels fluctuate with your useless parents? When is enough, enough?”
Chris didn’t have answers for him, and he didn’t like being put in that position either. Especially while everyone kept staring at him.
He shook his head and turned back to Bran, who was still sitting on him. “Get off. I’m going now.”
Bran stubbornly shook his head. “No, you’re not. I’m not going to let you go until you see just how much you’re hurting yourself. Until you get how scary and dangerous this is. When I first caught you cutting, I was sixteen and stupid. I’m thirty-three now and sane, and it’s not okay that you do this to yourself. Not at all. I won’t watch you die. I can’t.”
Chris blew out an irritated breath. Arguing with Bran was apparently going to go nowhere, but he needed to get Bran off him so he could get going. Using one of the tricks Misha had showed him over the years in case he was ever in trouble with a guy, he planted his feet and lifted up his hips, throwing Bran forward and off balance so it was easy to roll him over and get on top of him.
“I’m not fucking suicidal. You think I need to understand that cutting is dangerous? Maybe you need to figure out that I have some self-control and know when to stop,” Chris spat at him as he got to his feet, leaving a surprised-looking Bran still lying on the floor.
He stopped to get his shirt on and frowned as the icy wet spot touched his back. “Do you want to let me borrow your keys, or are you coming out with me?” Chris demanded from Samuel.
Samuel got to his feet. “Chris, listen to us. We’re only trying to help because we care. We’re not the enemy. Your ass of a father is. Cutting yourself is not the problem. Get rid of the source of your heartache and the cutting will stop. I believe that with my whole heart. This is not you. You are so much stronger than this, but that father of yours would drive me to the brink of stupid too.”
Chris groaned and ran his hands roughly through his hair. They were all so very frustrating. It was like some intervention on the TV and one he absolutely did not need. There was nothing wrong with him, and he was fed up trying to make them see that.
“You said you’d give it to me when I wanted it back. It’s not yours to have. It’s mine. Give me back my knife, Samuel.” He crossed his arms over his chest and hated to see the pain in Bran’s eyes as he got up and went back to sit with Kaden.
Samuel squared his shoulders, and Chris saw the anger in them.
“There’s no help for the sick if they can’t admit they’re sick. No one can help you until you decide you need help. Until the alcoholic admits he’s an addict, you can do nothing for him. You’re in that same boat. You think you’re so tough and you’re in control. I’ve got news for you—you’re not. That man that donated his sperm for your existence is in control of you! He’s got you right where he wants you, and you’re too bloody blind to see it. This here—your unwillingness to even listen to us, your friends, your real fucking family—is why I won’t have a relationship with you. Your asshole of a father and your precious knife are more important to you than any of us. And I’m not signing up for coming home to a bled-out lover one day. I’ve seen shit like that as a kid, and I’ve decided not to ever put up with it again. The truck is open. Go fetch your piece of gold you love so much.” Samuel spat the last few words out in disgust as his gray eyes flashed heat at Chris.
Chris tried not to shake or break down crying as he stood there listening to Samuel. He wasn’t right. Not at all. Not about him and not about his dad. He knew who he was and what he was doing, not Samuel, who hardly even knew him. He couldn’t get a single word out, so he simply turned, though his movements were stiff, and headed back to the front door.
He heard someone running up behind him and expected Bran but not the anger in his expression.
“If you leave right now, if you choose him over yourself, just like you always do, then don’t expect to be welcome back here. At all. You walk out that front door and you don’t get to come back to New Zealand. And I don’t want to have a best friend that can’t see that he’s dying.”
Chris couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, not when Bran was there, telling him he was done with their friendship and that Chris was so easy to throw away. He hugged Bran close, holding him as tightly as he could before letting him go and bending down to get his duffle bag. Walking out the front door and hearing it slam shut behind him, followed by the sound of Bran’s howling sobs, nearly broke him.
He had this. He didn’t need any of them. If they couldn’t see he was fine, he could manage without them. Or die trying.
Chapter Eleven
THE SOUND of the door slamming reverberated through the house, and Samuel couldn’t help flinching. Adrenaline still pumped through his body from his anger at Chris, and it took him a few seconds to comprehend that Chris was gone. He’d just left. Without them saying good-bye properly.
He hurried to the front door, jerked it open, and looked down the winding driveway. A lone figure stood by the postbox, but before Samuel could get to his truck, a white taxi stopped and Chris got in and drove off.
“Fuck!” he yelled in frustration and kicked at his truck tire, the action giving him no relief from the torment in his soul. When he turned around, his friends stood on the wooden deck, Kaden and Trent’s expressions filled with worry and Bran’s completely ravished by his grief. His heart beat a fast tempo in his chest, and every instinct in him commanded he run after Chris, but his common sense told him it would achieve nothing, but cause another argument. Another dead end.
He clenched and unclenched his fists, the desire in him to break stuff so great that denying it freedom made a sweat break out on his skin. In high school he had learned to box, then wrestle, and eventually he ended up in kickboxing. His training would prevent him ever becoming a victim of violence or abuse again. At home he had a gym where he stayed fit and practiced, but never once had he needed to use his skills. But today, if he could get a hold of Pavel Romanoff, he would break his neck with his bare hands and enjoy the hell out of the brutal act.
Holding back from acting out was painful, but he managed. He stomped up the stairs and walked past the other men to go back inside, where he slumped down on the couch and closed his eyes. Soft footsteps and the door closing told him they were all in the room, but he stayed quiet. What was there to say?
Bran still cried softly, and Samuel’s own eyes stung with repressed emotions. Kaden said nothing, but when Trent spoke, it surprised Samuel so much his eyes popped open.
“May I be the bearer of bad news to tell you all how royally you just fucked things up?”
Bran’s spine stiffened, and he stopped crying. “Excuse me?”
Trent sat forward on his seat and rested his elbows on his knees, making his long limbs appear even lankier. “You heard me. What were you lot thinking, man? Ganging up on Chris like that? We all know he has a problem, and deep down he knows it too. But what happens when you corner an addict?” Trent’s voice got louder with every word he spoke.
Bran stared at Trent like he’d never seen the man before. “We were only trying to help him. Talk some sense into him.”
Trent laughed humorlessly, the sound completely foreign from his usually calm and jovial friend. “Helping? How is it helping him to tell your best friend that he’s not welcome back here at your house or eve
n in New Zealand if he doesn’t do what you say, Bran? Who the hell are you? You don’t own this country and don’t speak for everyone. Not for me, anyway.”
Trent’s green eyes flashed in outrage. Samuel had only ever seen Trent this angry once, the time they’d found him lying wounded in the grass by the creek. Trent didn’t do angry. Until today.
Bran tried to retaliate but looked like a goldfish with nothing coming from his mouth.
Trent dragged one hand roughly through his messy long blond hair. He pinned each one of them with a disgusted look. “I know you guys are my friends, and I love you to bits, but I’m so disappointed in you right now. The only thing you geniuses managed to accomplish was to confirm what Chris had feared his whole life—rejection, abandonment, and ridicule.”
Samuel knew Trent was spot-on. They might have all been well meaning with what they had said to Chris, but pushing too hard, too fast all at once might have done more damage than good. He nodded at Trent to acknowledge his agreement.
“Now Chris is on his way back to a nightmare of a life with no support structure. Until now he never went off the edge, because despite the shit in his life, he had you, Bran, and Misha. And us for the last eight months. He knew he had us to fall back on if all else failed. What does he have now? A possible lover who wants him fixed before he’ll love on him? A brother who is in bumfuck who knows where shooting people for a living, and friends who told him his head is so fucked up that, unless he sorts himself out, he’s not welcome back. So he’s all alone. In his current state, Chris becomes a man who plays Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun, and he’ll smile every time he pulls the trigger.” Trent’s skin appeared very pale as he glared at them all.
“I’m so bloody disappointed in you all right now. I can’t even text Misha to give him a heads-up on Chris’s mental state, because the prick won’t answer me! If anything serious happens to him, then you’ve got only yourself to blame. Later.”
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