I stared at the swinging door for long moments. Then I began cleaning up the few red drops in the sink with soap and water. I was on autopilot, my brain going a million miles an hour.
She won't find out! Ian had told his brother.
But I had.
Ian cut himself.
Doctors called it self-harm. The cuts weren't on the inside of his wrist. They were on the back of his arm. And not one or two. He must have been doing it for years.
Why? What would make someone do that to themselves?
Despite Ian's plea, there was no way I could keep it a secret. Not something as big as this.
I cleaned up the last of the paper towels and flushed them down the toilet. On the way out of the stall I caught my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes wide, full of worry and fear. My hair was more frazzled than usual.
The two minute break was more than over by the time I gathered myself together. The interview was already done. The band members were getting ready to leave.
I kept my eyes trained on Ian. He seemed… fine. Perfectly normal. There was no hint of that glassy look. It had been replaced by an amused glint as he laughed along with something Cameron said. He was so good at pretending. If I hadn't walked in on him, I probably never would have known.
And how could I? This was the last thing I would expect from Ian. From any of the guys.
A drinking problem, maybe. Drugs, even. He was a rock star after all. It wasn't uncommon.
But self-harm?
Damon and Ian both saw me, a quick glance. Ian whispered something to his brother. Damon listened for a brief moment before throwing a withering glare my way. Damon slowed his steps. He whispered something back and nodded to his brother, indicating he should go on ahead.
Ian gave him a warning look and touched his arm. Damon shook it off with an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Ian continued walking with the rest of the band. Damon stood and watched him for a few seconds. Then he whipped around and met my gaze head on.
I froze in my tracks.
Damon stalked over. There was nothing easy or casual in that stride. He stopped within two feet of me. It was like the first time The Twins had noticed me backstage. Except that time, I hadn't been terrified for my life.
"So." Damon's lip curled in displeasure. "You found out?"
I almost couldn't make myself speak. "You mean, about the…"
Damon hissed, eyes darting around to see who was within hearing distance. "Shut up!"
I snapped my mouth shut.
He let out a frustrated growl and ran his fingers through his hair. "I told Ian this would happen." Damon stared me down with narrowed, chilling eyes. I shrank back.
"You better not tell a soul."
"I-I won't."
"Good."
The corners of his lips tilted up. It wasn't friendly, or reassuring.
"Because if word gets out, I will fucking destroy you."
Chapter Twenty-Six
I was still trembling by the time I got back home, adrenaline still pumping through my veins. I barely managed to kick off my shoes before I fled to my room and slammed the door behind me. As if hiding in the sanctuary of my bedroom would protect me.
Damon's words echoed my head, a never ending litany.
He said he would destroy me.
The back of my eyes stung with unshed tears. I'd never had someone direct so much hatred towards me. It was scary.
But the terror was soon replaced with rage.
Damon knew.
Damon knew. He knew Ian was hurting himself, and he wasn't doing anything about it.
I was angry beyond reason, ready to smash something, anything. I kicked my laundry basket over, punched at my pillows until they were lumpen and misshapen.
But eventually my anger deflated.
I couldn't stay mad at Damon. After all, I knew about Ian's problem now, too, and I hadn't done anything about it. I should have told August the minute I found out. Instead, I'd run home, scared.
Ian didn't want anyone to know. His brother was no doubt simply obeying his wishes.
Maybe I should do the same. Ian was an adult. I had no say in how he lived his life.
But if I didn't say anything, and Ian ended up really hurting himself, if he ended up—
I couldn't finish the thought.
If Ian ended up seriously injured, I didn't know if I'd be able to live with myself.
I had to tell someone. But the look on Ian's face, the fear I'd seen, made me think twice. I didn't want to betray him.
I didn't know what to do.
There was a knock on my door.
"Hope?"
My sister's voice was full of worry. I hadn't known she was home, or I would have tried to be more quiet.
I wanted to tell her. I wanted to confide in her. She was so smart, so level headed.
I opened the door.
"Are you crying?" Faith immediately pulled me into a hug, squeezing me tight. "What happened? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled in his her shoulder. "I was just…"
I didn't know what to tell her.
She urged me into the bedroom. When we were both sitting on the bed, she took my hand. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."
I rubbed at my red-rimmed eyes with a fist and shook my head.
"We haven't had much time to talk lately," she said quietly. "We used to talk about everything. About anything."
"We've been busy. The both of us. You've got all these events, I've got this internship."
I still hadn't told her about my promotion to Image Consultant. Faith was right. We'd barely spoken in months. I'd missed her.
"Can you tell me why you were crying?" she asked. "Is it about a guy?"
She probably thought I was heartsick over some guy I'd slept with. And I was. But not in the way she imagined.
"I found out something about a friend. He's in trouble. I want to help, but I don't know how."
"What kind of trouble?" She sat up, alarmed. "Is it drugs?"
"No. Nothing like that." I tried to give her a reassuring smile.
"So if it's not drugs, what is it?"
"I want to tell you but I'm not sure it's my place."
"What can you tell me?"
I paused for a moment, thinking. "I found out a secret. Something he doesn't want anyone else to know. But if I don't tell someone, I'm afraid he'll get hurt."
That was close enough to the truth.
"Hurt? Hurt like how?"
I couldn't tell her.
"Hurt bad enough I'm worried for his safety." Worried for his life. "But I don't think he'll ever forgive me if I told."
Faith squeezed my hand. "I guess it comes down to what's more important. Is his safety more important than his feelings for you? Are you willing to watch him get hurt just so he won't be upset with you?"
I shot off the bed. "Of course not! His safety is the only thing that matters."
"Then I guess you know what you have to do."
My shoulders slumped. "It's not that easy. I don't want to betray his trust."
She pursed her lips. "Well. You don't necessarily need to be the one who tells."
"What do you mean?"
"He's in trouble. Even though he doesn't want anyone to know, I'm sure deep down inside somewhere he's desperate for help. You need to convince him. Get him to ask for help so you don't have to go behind his back."
I stared at her for a few minutes before throwing my arms around her shoulders. "How do you always know what to say?"
"That's what sisters are for."
I pulled back and wiped the tears from my cheeks. "Thanks."
I hoped she was right. I had to talk to Ian. I had to make him understand. To convince him to get help.
And if that didn't work, if Ian didn't agree to tell someone…
I pushed those thoughts aside, not wanting to get ahead of myself. Talk to Ian first. Then decide what to do.
Faith took my hand. "Ho
pe… can I assume Mr. Sexting is the one you're talking about?"
I stiffened, but then remembered she didn't know who he was. "Yeah. It's him."
Worry flickered across her face. "I just need to ask. Are you sure? I don't want you to be making a mistake, getting involved with this guy."
"So what if I am? It's my mistake to make."
"What if he hurts you?"
"Then I guess I'll have to live with a broken heart."
And there it was. I finally admitted it to myself, the words I'd been avoiding.
I was in love with Ian.
Even if he would never love me back, even if I meant nothing to him, it didn't change my feelings. I would help him, whether he wanted me to or not.
"Is he really worth it?"
Flashes of Ian's face flicked across my vision, echoes of his words in my ears.
You keep up the good work, sweetheart.
Does the princess need more wooing from her prince?
Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.
"Yes. He is."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
"Ian, please, let me in."
I pounded my fist against the door, the loud hammering matching the pounding in my heart.
I'd begun to think he wasn't home. Or maybe he was still as determined to ignore me now as he had been since I'd ended things. I was getting discouraged. Discouraged and worried. What if he was hurting himself again? What if he was doing it right now, while I was stuck outside? I let out a sick choking sound, an almost sob.
"Ian, please!"
The door finally swung open a crack, my fist inches away from another heavy knock.
I pushed through to find Ian already heading back to his sofa. He flopped onto the cushions and faced me.
"What? What do you want?"
Even with a sullen expression, even with his tired eyes, he was still as gorgeous as he was the first time I'd seen him on stage. More so in his vulnerability.
I spoke softly, trying not to spook him. "I wanted to talk."
"Nothing to talk about," he muttered.
"You know there is."
I sat beside him gingerly on the opposite end of the couch, leaving space between us. I didn't want to crowd him.
"I can't forget what I saw today."
"Yes you can. You have to."
"I'm worried. You're hurting yourself. What if next time—"
"There won't be a next time!" he shouted, flinging himself off the sofa. Then he stopped and ran a hand over his face. "…probably."
"You've been doing it for years."
"That was a long time ago."
"You did it a few weeks ago."
"A momentary relapse."
"Then what was today?"
He went quiet.
"You need help," I begged. "You have to tell someone."
"I can't." His eyes were desperate, wild. "Please. You're the only one who knows, aside from my brother. It has to stay that way." Ian must have sensed my anger. "Don't blame Damon."
"He threatened me if I told anyone."
Ian glanced away, ashamed. "He doesn't know I've started up again," he confessed quietly. "He thinks you saw my old scars." His eyes flicked to mine. "It's no one's fault. This is all me. It's how I deal with things."
"You call this dealing?"
"Look, it's nothing."
I gestured at his arm. "That isn't nothing, Ian."
"I've been good for years."
"Then why are you carrying a razor blade around?"
He lips quirked up, half-amused, half-ashamed. "Security blanket." Ian caught my failing arms and held my wrists in his one good hand. "I only did it once recently before today. I forgot how to do it properly and went a little too deep this time. I promise, you don't have to worry."
Tears filled my eyes. "You're hurting yourself. How can I not worry?"
His tried to give me a reassuring smile, but it looked sickly. "It's not like I'm suicidal. I only do it on the back of my arms."
"That doesn't make it any better."
"I'm just saying. I'm not going to kill myself."
"Then why? Why do it?"
Ian let out a deep breath and collapsed back onto the sofa. "It's hard to explain."
"Tell me." This time I sat close, knees tucked under me, pressing my thighs against his. "I want to understand."
Ian leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressed over his eyes. For a long moment, I didn't think he was going to answer. Then he spoke.
"Growing up… our dad was pretty shitty. At first it was just cruel words. Putting us down all the time. He made us feel worthless. Then came the yelling, the anger. Then came the hitting, the beatings."
I leaned my head on his shoulder and placed one hand on his chest. I didn't say anything, just let him talk.
"Our mom was so cowed. So beaten down. She didn't do a thing to stop it. I don't think she could, mentally or emotionally. She tried to pretend everything was okay, living in her own little world. But nothing was okay."
"I'm sorry."
He let out a heavy breath, going silent for a moment.
"The cutting made it better," he finally admitted.
I scooted back so I could meet his eyes. "How?"
"I think…" he trailed off thoughtfully. "I think it's almost like it took all the hurt and anger and pain that I was feeling inside and made it physical. The pain on the outside made the pain on the inside feel less terrible. I guess you could call it a coping mechanism." He let out a dark laugh. "Pretty awful coping mechanism, I know."
My brow furrowed. “But… how did Damon not know?"
"I kept it from him for a long time. We weren't always as close as we are now. Our dad played us against each other. It didn't exactly make for warm fuzzy feelings between us."
"I never would have guessed. You seem inseparable now."
"That started when Damon found out. When he finally discovered what I was doing, he was determined to help me. He watched me like a hawk. He was there to snap me out of it when I started spiraling down. He was there for me whenever I needed him."
"But you still continued to cut, even with his help?"
"I stopped for a long time. I thought I'd stopped for good. That it was behind me."
"But something must have gone wrong a few years ago. It must have been bad. You went on hiatus."
Ian nodded, playing with a strand of my hair. "We did."
"Can I ask what happened?" I was hesitant, still not sure how much he was willing to share.
"We got famous," he said simply. "We got rich. Our dad showed up. Said he was entitled to our money. Made it all about him. There was a huge blow up. Damon almost got arrested. August had to straighten everything out. I don't know what he said or did, but our dad went away. We haven't seen or heard from since him."
"And that's when you started up again?"
"All that pain and anger rushed to the surface." Ian face twisted, as if the memory caused him physical pain. "Like it had just been waiting for me to give in, waiting for that trigger to go off. It only happened the once, but once was enough.
"Was it bad?"
He huffed out a dark laugh. "Yeah. I went a little nuts. I screwed up my wrists and arms. I cut too deep. Hadn't even realized at the time what I was doing. It was like I was in a trance. I snapped out of it to find myself on the bathroom floor covered in blood. It was… not good." He leaned his head back against the sofa and exhaled noisily. "I begged Damon to lie for me. We pretended it was an accident."
"How in the world could something like that be an accident?"
"Accidentally cut myself with a kitchen knife."
"You don't know how to use the kitchen."
He gave me an almost cheeky grin. "That's why it was plausible."
I let out a little laugh as the tension eased somewhat.
"The band decided to go on hiatus while I healed," Ian continued. "They didn't know I was secretly seeing a therapist. We didn't want anyone
to worry. If the media got pictures of my arms, they'd think…"
"They'd think you cut yourself," I interjected, trying to dampen the hints of anger and worry in my voice. "Which is exactly what you do."
"You've seen the way paparazzi act when some starlet goes on a bender and ends up in rehab. Can you imagine the shitshow if word got out about me? Best case scenario, they follow my every move like vultures. Worst case scenario, fangirls start cutting themselves too out of some sort of sick sense of loyalty and all of a sudden Darkest Days is the reason some girl killed herself."
I could understand Ian's worry. "That doesn't mean you can't tell your friends. There's no reason why you can't tell your brother, at least."
"No." Ian's words were resolute. "Damon can't know."
"He'll want to help you."
"He already thinks he's helping."
"You said you don't talk about it."
"We don't. But… he's trying so hard. If he knew all that Damian shit makes it—" Ian cut himself off abruptly.
"What? Makes it what?"
"He just wants me to know I'm not alone." Ian's voice went soft. "That he's there to support me. But I get lost in it. Like I'm fading away. Like Ian doesn't exist anymore. The cutting… it reminds me of who I am. The pain belongs to me, no one else."
I finally understood. I understood why Ian had gotten upset all those times. Damon thought by focusing on all that Twins stuff, he was helping. But he wasn't. He was making it worse.
"So that's my sob story," Ian said with a rueful laugh. "Bet you didn't think you'd be getting involved with such a screw up when you proposed that fling."
"You're not a screw up," I said firmly. "Everyone has their demons to deal with, even me. Yours just happen to manifest more physically."
He gave me a curious look.
"And what about your demons?"
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I sat on the sofa next to Ian, motionless, not liking where this conversation was heading.
He continued speaking. "I know your mom passed away. I know your dad ignored you. I'm here for you, if there's anyone else you want to talk to me about."
There wasn't. I didn't want Ian to know how screwed up I still was emotionally. He was already dealing with so much. I didn't need to unload on him.
Hard Rock Fling: A Rock Star Romance Page 16