Cutting Cords

by Mickie B. Ashling

  “I can’t leave you this way, let me help you.”

  “You can’t help me, Cole. Nobody can.” Sloan began to weep, pulling his legs up and hugging them tightly against his body. Cole wrapped his arms around the slim torso, noting how cold he was. He could feel Sloan shaking and he knew that he had to get him out of the tub, yet Sloan kept resisting.

  “Sloan, please, let me care for you the way you cared for me. I want to help.”

  “Why? Why would you even waste a minute on me, Cole? I’m such a loser.”

  “Stop it! I want you to let me help you.”

  Sloan gave in and nodded, forgetting that Cole couldn’t see, but since Cole didn’t hear the verbal denial, he assumed it was okay to lift him up. He moved Sloan into the bedroom and made him lie flat on the bed, covering him with a towel. “I’m going to get some things from the bathroom, okay?”

  “’Kay.”

  “I’m going to help you, Sloan. Will you let me?” There was no response and for a moment Cole thought that Sloan might have fainted. He shook him gently, “Sloan, dude, can you hear me?”

  “Yes.”

  He bent down and kissed him on the lips, tasting the tears that were covering Sloan’s face. “Whoever did this to you will pay,” Cole said vehemently.

  “I did this to me,” Sloan whispered. “I’m sick.”

  “Should I call a doctor?”

  “No!” Sloan was emphatic. “They’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”

  “Sloan.” Cole stopped his protest with a soft kiss. “Relax; I won’t call anyone.”

  “Promise?” Sloan tugged at his arm, waiting to hear.

  “I promise. It’ll just be you and me, okay?”

  “Thank you,” Sloan replied, holding back another sob.

  Cole was sick with worry, and the idea that someone or something had reduced his brash young friend into this needy wreck was twisting his gut. He needed to clean him up and assess the damage before he could figure out what had happened. “I’m going to get some supplies to sterilize the area.”

  “Just spray it with antiseptic. It’ll heal on its own,” Sloan said, choking out the words.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Cole replied, the worry heavy in his voice. He would have given anything to be able to see the full extent of the injury, but for now he’d have to feel his way. He had no idea if it was a knife that had ripped Sloan’s skin; he just knew that he needed to stop the bleeding. He remembered injuries he’d sustained as a ballplayer. It usually started with horrendous pain that made you cold all over, and then the trembling would start as the body went into shock, followed by the inevitable fainting or light-headedness. Cole could tell that Sloan was close to passing out. The trembling in his body was getting worse and he was ice cold. He needed to take care of the immediate problem by getting him comfortable and in a better place before trying to understand what had happened. He walked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, pulling out cotton balls, antiseptic spray, and antibiotic cream. He didn’t think BAND-AIDs would work, but he grabbed the box just in case.

  He first dabbed at Sloan’s legs with a warm washcloth, running his hand lightly over the wounds, letting his fingers see what he couldn’t.

  It felt like several gashes down each thigh, in the same spot he’d noticed last night when they were having sex. They were dry and crusty earlier, making him think that Sloan might have some sort of skin disease. This explained some of it.

  “I’m going to spray now and it’ll sting, okay?”

  “Okay,” Sloan whispered.

  Cole sprayed liberally, wincing when he heard Sloan’s sharp intake of breath. He knew this must hurt like hell, but Sloan was quiet and hardly moved. “I think I’ve got the worst of it, Sloan. It seems to have stopped bleeding.”

  “Thank you. I’ll just go back to my bed so you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

  “You’ll do no such thing! I want you right here where I can hold you.”

  “Why?” Sloan whimpered. “How could you possibly want me after this?”

  “Shut up, Sloan. I want you, let it go at that.”

  “Cole?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m really tired.”

  “I know, dude. Did you sleep at all?”

  “No. Stay with me?”

  “Yes. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

  31

  I AWOKE to a familiar pain and an unfamiliar body snuggled up against mine. I was surprised to find myself in Cole’s bed, despite his promise not to leave. I figured that when he finally came to his senses, he’d realize what a freak I was and move me out of his room and the apartment. Instead, I felt him spooning against me, his arm tight around my waist. He had slipped on sweats and a T-shirt sometime while I was asleep, but I was still naked, feeling very vulnerable.

  “You awake?” he mumbled against my neck, making my skin erupt in goose bumps.

  “Yeah.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Ashamed.”

  He rolled me over and looked straight into my eyes. I could tell that he could see me because his eyes turned stormy with concern. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Cole. There’s plenty.”

  “I’m not arguing on an empty stomach,” he said, shifting roles and bossing me around again. “Get up, get dressed, and come to the kitchen.”

  “You got it, Shogun.”

  “And stop calling me that!”

  “Actually, I think it’s kinda cool.”

  “Why?”

  “I read the book, if you must know, after seeing it on your nightstand. I was taken by the whole mind-set of the ancient Japanese. They were honorable people, Cole. You would have made a great shogun.”

  Cole smiled. I could tell he was flattered by the compliment. “You continue to surprise me, Sloan. Why did you read the book?”

  “I thought it might give us something to talk about.”

  “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. Now, get up, please,” Cole asked in a much gentler tone of voice.

  “Okay.”

  By the time I got to the kitchen, he had already made some coffee, which I noticed immediately. He’d also started a small pot of rice. Cole placed a light green porcelain platter in front of me with pieces of sashimi on one side, cooked shrimp and tuna on the other. “I wasn’t sure if you ate raw fish or not,” Cole said, “so I cooked yours.”

  “When did you do this?” I was shocked by the elaborate preparation.

  “While you were sleeping.”

  “Wow.”

  “I guess you must be hungry. I don’t hear any bitching about Pop-Tarts.”

  I laughed and reached for his hand, squeezing it really tight. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Start eating and I’ll get you the rice.”

  “Are we always going to have breakfast like this?”

  “If you’ll eat it.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you eat raw fish?” Cole asked.

  “I’ve never had any.”

  Cole picked up a piece with his chopsticks, dipped it in the sauce in front of him and put it close to my mouth. “Open up.”

  I did, expecting something fishy and slimy. Instead, the sauce tasted like ginger and soy while the fish sort of slid down my throat easily. “That was good.”

  “And nutritious. Have a little rice with it, so you get your carbs.”

  “Have you always been so nurturing?” I was curious about this side of Cole. He was an only son and spoiled rotten from what I’d seen earlier. I didn’t know where this was coming from.

  “I nurture the people I care about,” he said quietly, almost afraid to say it out loud.

  “Cole.”

  “You don’t have to respond, Sloan. It is what it is.”

  “I need to talk about last night.”

  “Whenever you’re ready, but I’d prefer that we eat first.”

  We fini
shed up our meal in comfortable silence. The tension between us seemed to have evaporated, and all that was left was two guys enjoying each other’s company.

  As soon as we were done, I picked up our dishes, took them to the sink, and began to wash them. I put them on the drain board to drip dry. Cole didn’t even bother arguing, since I’d told him the last time he’d cooked that I would clean up.

  Finally, when everything had been put away, Cole pushed back his chair and followed me to the living room. He sat on the easy chair, across from the sofa where I was sitting.

  “Do you mind sitting beside me?” I couldn’t face the conversation this way. It would be easier if he had his arms around me.

  Cole stood immediately and reclined on the sofa, positioning me in between his legs. He hefted me up against his chest and held me for a long time until I finally broke the silence and whispered the awful truth, “I’m a cutter, Cole.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I self-mutilate.”

  He was silent for a few minutes, and I gave him credit for not pushing me away or calling me all kinds of names. Instead, he took a few deep breaths and held me tight. Finally, he whispered in my ear, “I don’t know much about it, Sloan. You’ll have to educate me.”

  “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  “Why don’t you just blurt it out? I’ll pick and choose what I find relevant.”

  “Do you want the psycho-babble version?”

  “Sure.”

  “According to the books, most cutters self-mutilate to regain control over an uncontrollable life. By hurting ourselves on the outside we stop thinking about the internal pain.”

  “I see. Does it really help?”

  “In my case I would say that it helps while I’m doing it.” I snuggled in closer, comforted by Cole’s nearness. “It doesn’t take long for the internal struggles to come rushing back, and then I cut again. It’s a horrible, vicious way of dealing with problems, but it’s addictive, like alcohol or drugs. I can’t seem to stop it.”

  “Have you ever sought a doctor’s help?”

  “You mean a shrink? I’ve seen several over the years, and although we’ve determined the cause, we can’t control the effects.”

  “Have they ever put you on antidepressants?”

  “Sure. I’ve had the best of care, Cole, but this need keeps turning up like the proverbial bad penny.”

  “Has it ever retreated a little bit?”

  “Yes. When I feel good about myself, like when I got the scholarship to Pratt. I stopped cutting for over three months.”

  “What happened to trigger it again?”

  “My mother died.”

  “Oh, Sloan, you know you have no control over death. How could cutting possibly take away the pain of someone dying?”

  “It lets you focus on your own physical pain, rather than the mental one.”

  “Were you and your mom close?”

  “Very. She got me, whereas my dad never did and still doesn’t.”

  “My parents are sort of clueless about me as well, so don’t feel like you’re the only one with this problem.”

  “I don’t. I know everyone has issues or problems they deal with on a daily basis. Some people drink, some smoke weed, others spend money like it’s being printed in their garage. I happen to cut myself. I know it sounds so trite to explain it away like that, when it’s a horrible, degrading way of dealing with hurt, but you become immune after a while.”

  “How many times have you cut yourself since you moved here?”

  “Last night was the third time.”

  “Three times in almost three months. Is that good or average?”

  “It’s pretty good. I used to cut almost every day.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sloan. It’s a wonder you have any skin on your legs.”

  “That’s the thing. I used to do both my arms and legs. Rotate, kind of, but my parents started to comment on the long sleeves in the dead of summer, so now it’s pretty much relegated to my upper thighs. No one ever sees them.”

  “I do.”

  I was silent, not wanting to remind him that I’d been naked with him two times and he hadn’t noticed.

  “What happened last night? I thought everything we shared would have eased whatever was troubling you enough to cut yourself.”

  “It was incredible, wasn’t it?”

  “It meant a lot to me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. But what happened when you left?”

  “Max.”

  “I knew that fucker was up to no good.”

  “No, Cole. It’s not like that. He’s been incredibly supportive, pushing me to do this photo shoot and possibly make zillions of dollars.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I told him about the modeling and the possible contract with Klas.

  “What else is going on with you two? I know there’s more.”

  “I’ve slept with him on more than one occasion.”

  “Did you last night?” he asked, angrier about that then the cutting.

  “No.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Have you ever heard of BDSM?”

  “Hasn’t everyone?”

  I pushed away from him, shocked. “How come you have?”

  “I’m well read,” he deadpanned.

  I laughed, immensely relieved by his answer. “Thank God. For a moment there I thought you were a closet Dom.”

  “I’m not,” Cole replied, “but obviously Max is. Did he hurt you?” Cole asked, suddenly furious.

  “No! It’s all good, Cole. He thought that I might possibly be sub material, a pain slut, which would explain the cutting. I guess he was trying to help me figure out why I do this, but I’m not submissive nor do I crave pain.”

  “It wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Cole snorted.

  “That’s not true. Some of the bossiest people are subs, from everything I’ve read. They get off on pain and submission, so I let Max tie me up and whip me last night to see if it would turn me on, but it didn’t! I hated every minute of it.”

  “I can’t believe you let him do that after what we shared.”

  “Please,” I said, starting to feel the tears gathering again, “don’t get me started.”

  “Fuck, Sloan! Don’t you know how much you mean to me?”

  I turned to face him, to see where this was coming from. He looked outraged that I had no idea what he was thinking all along, like I was supposed to be some sort of mind reader. “I didn’t think I meant a goddamn thing to you, Cole. I’m your fuck buddy, aren’t I? You’ll marry Juliana and live happily ever after. I’ll be a brief hiccup in your very straight and orderly life.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Isn’t it so?”

  He shoved me away, got off the sofa, and moved over to the chair. He was furious, but I couldn’t figure out why. I was just telling it the way I saw it.

  “Get over here,” he said, changing his mind about my proximity.

  “Why? I don’t feel like getting another lecture.”

  “There will be no lecture.”

  “What then?”

  My resistance angered him even more and he stood and crossed the narrow space between us. He grabbed my T-shirt at the neck and hauled me up off the sofa. “You are, without a doubt, the most fucking aggravating person I know.”

  I tried to ask why, but he cut off my question by plunging his tongue down my throat. His kisses were hot, primal, and screamed possession. I’d never seen him quite this unrestrained, and it was a huge turn-on. I ached with desire, matching every one of his kisses with a fiery passion of my own. We were tearing at our clothes, ripping and biting them off impatiently, desperate to feel skin. I was surprised Cole had the presence of mind to think about a condom, because it never once crossed my mind. He could have fucked me raw right on our living room floor, and I would have let him. Cole seemed to be filled with an overpowering need t
o show me how much he cared by ravishing every part of my body. He barked out the order for me to stay, and practically sprinted to the bedroom to get the lube and condom. I made a mental note to start planting said items throughout the apartment for future ravishments.

  By the time he came back I was leaking pre-cum all over my stomach. I needed to be fucked and I wanted it hard, so I pulled him down, spread my legs, and positioned him right where I wanted him. He thrust forward while I pushed up, slamming into him with a burning need. We fucked like it was our last day on earth, make-up sex that melted the paint off the walls.

  “You’re maddening,” he growled, sucking up marks all over my neck.

  I shocked us both by saying, “I love you,” before I realized that the words had flown out of my mouth.

  He paused for a split second, grunted once, and came in an explosion of heat, but not before I heard him whisper, “Me too.”

  32

  “I BROKE our engagement,” Cole said softly.

  We were lying on the floor, replete from the massive surge of sexual energy, touching and kissing gently.

  “I’m glad.”

  “Are you?” he asked. “Why?”

  “Didn’t you hear me say I love you?” I asked.

  “Do you?” he countered.

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “I think it was the first night I got here, when you threw me out of your room.”

  “All this time?”

  “Yeah. I had my first cutting incident that night because of you.”

  “Jesus, Sloan. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what? That I was in love with you? You weren’t exactly a free thinker then.”

  “You’ve changed me, you know that?”

  “I haven’t changed you, Cole. You’re just growing and evolving.”

  “No. I started to change the first time you challenged me and called me a hypocrite. You saw right through me, Sloan.”

  “Maybe, but you’ve changed me as well. I’m more aware of my body and the horrible things I do to it.”

  “Why did you cut yourself after the session with Max?”

  “I felt I’d lost everything. You were marrying Juliana, and Max was pissed because he didn’t get the sub he wanted. There’s a part of me that hoped he was right, that I was the pain slut he accused me of being. It would have solved my cutting issues, since Max is more than willing to dish out the pain. Unfortunately, it isn’t the answer.”