“Tate, it's in the past. I'm fine, no one's hurting me now. Let's just put it behind us.”
“No one's hurting you?” he asks incredulously, his eyes burning into mine. “You're still hurting, Blayre. You hurt yourself. Is that why you cut? Because of them?”
My eyes drop to our clasped hands. “I... It's what I'm used to,” I say with difficulty as uncomfortable emotions rise within. “It just...feels right to do it when I'm upset. I feel better,” I whisper.
“It feels right? There is nothing right about it!” Tate says in a fierce voice.
His tone has me abruptly releasing his hand and rising to my feet. I can still hear the disgust in his voice and it makes me feel ashamed as something inside me withers away. This is what I'd been afraid of if he ever found out.
“Don't you dare run off.”
My shoulders cave in and I walk over to the window to stare outside for a long moment. Walking away is impossible because I know he'll follow me. Finally, I turn back to see that he's still sitting on the couch, his eyes on me. “I don't like the way you...say it. Your tone.”
He looks at me questioningly.
“You make it sound disgusting, like I'm sick or something. I'm not sick!”
Tate runs a hand wearily over his face before he rises to his feet and walks over, his eyes strained and tight at the corners. “I'm not going to make it all right for you. I don't know what Noah's been doing with all this information but this is serious, Blayre. I'm not going to look away and pretend I don't know what you're doing to yourself.”
“It's just the way I cope. I can handle it,” I insist, but even I can hear the hollowness in that lie. The sad thing is, I can't handle it and I'm aware of it. But I refuse to get help, not the kind of help Noah wants me to get.
“If you could handle what's going on, you wouldn't resort to cutting.” Tate looks at me hesitantly. “Do you do it to...? Are you thinking of...?” his voice trails off and he looks away as he struggles with his question.
It dawns on me what he's asking and my eyes widen. “Are you asking me if I'm suicidal?”
“Yes, I am,” he says as he looks back at me, his eyes searching mine.
“NO!! I'm not trying to end my life or anything. I just want to feel better, there's a world of difference in what I am doing compared to someone who doesn't want to live.”
“I had to ask, Blayre.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I mutter as I turn from him and look back out the window. I couldn't wait for this conversation to end.
“You need help,” Tate says simply.
My shoulders tense and I turn around to glare at him. “I'm in full control of it. I don't need help because I am not suicidal. I can figure it out on my own without going to rehab or seeing some stupid psychiatrist!!” I shout.
Tate stares at me and then his gaze turns knowing. “Noah's been pushing you to get help. I should have known he wouldn't brush this under the rug.”
“Just because you guys want it doesn't mean I want it. I'm eighteen,” I point out stubbornly as I cross my arms over my chest.
“Yes, you are eighteen but you are dealing with some serious issues, Blayre,” he says softly. “I wasn't there for you when you needed me but I am here now. We'll get through this together.”
“I don't want your help!”
“Well too damned bad! You've got it whether you want it or not. That's what family does.”
“Are we done yet?” I ask with irritation as I back away from him restlessly. It's hard to continue standing here while he lectures me.
Tate's eyebrows rise. “Done? Not even close. First and foremost, I want to hire an attorney. I know a guy who's a real shark in the courtroom. We're going to deal with Julie and Steve and figure out where we go from here with you.”
“What? You can't be serious. You're going to go after Julie and Steve? It's too late, Tate. There's no records of any of this and I'm eighteen, no longer a minor. Plus, I don't want to be dragged into some messy trial where I have to relive the worst five years of my life. I'm not doing it,” I say flatly.
“Blayre, they need to pay,” he insists as he walks over to me, his eyes determined. “If I could kill them and get away with it, I would.”
The fact that he's talking murder has me flinching. “You don't mean that.”
“The hell I don't! They fucked with you! Now look at you! You won't let anyone close to you, at least not emotionally and you go hide in your room and take a blade to your skin. You're a fucking mess!”
His words cut me like a knife and abruptly I turn and walk away. If words could physically hurt, I'd be a bloody heap right now.
“Blayre!” He catches up to me and grabs my arm, pulling me up short but I refuse to look at him. “Ah, hell. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you,” he says before he pulls me into a tight hug.
I tense up in his arms because the last thing I want or need is comfort.
Tate notes my reaction because he reluctantly lets me go. “Look at me,” he says with frustration. He waits until I do before he continues, “What the hell am I supposed to do, Blayre? You don't want help but I can't ignore what you're doing. I won't. So where does that leave us?”
“I don't know,” I say honestly.
He runs his hands over his scalp, his expression a bit lost. “I think I need some time to clear my head.”
“You won't do anything stupid?” I ask tentatively as I think about Julie and Steve.
“Depends on what you mean by stupid.”
“Tate...”
“No, I'm not going to freak out and high tail it to Minnesota. At least not yet.” His eyes search mine as he suddenly goes still. “Can I trust you not to...harm yourself while I'm gone?”
My eyes narrow. “You can't control me, Tate.”
“Then I am begging, please don't hurt yourself, Blayre.”
My eyes roll. “If it makes you feel better, I'm not planning on going up to my room and making myself bleed,” I say.
No, I had one more person to deal with before I do that.
“Okay. Good. I'll be back in a bit,” he says quietly.
I watch him walk away before I turn and head for the hallway and make my way upstairs. Noah's door is shut and I know it's rude, but I fling it open anyway. He's snooped around in my room before, I think it's high time I return the favor.
Noah is sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen and looking lost. He must have caught the movement of the door swinging open from the corner of his eye, because he looks up and rises to his feet, his brown eyes on mine. “Blayre...”
“How could you?” I demand as I keep a hand clenched around the doorknob as I stand there. I shouldn't care that he has a black eye but I feel a pang of guilt at the sight because I'd made the situation much worse than it needed to be.
He pauses a few feet from me, his expression resolute. “I want what's best for you. I want you to get better and if that means sacrificing our relationship to get you healthy, then that is the price I am willing to pay.”
My heart melts a little over the fact that he's clearly upset over what had gone down today but I harden my heart and glare at him. “Tate knows everything and he blames himself. All my shit has just gotten passed on to him.”
“Do you think he'd have it any other way?” he asks simply as he slips his hands in his pants pockets and studies me.
My lips tighten because I know he's right.
“I don't know what to do anymore. Ignoring what you do isn't working and I can't just stand by and let you do this to yourself.”
“Well, guess what. I'm not your problem anymore,” I say darkly.
He tenses up, his eyes grim. “So that's it? I'm out, just like that?”
“I don't know,” I say honestly, because the thought of kicking Noah out of my life hurts me so deep, it sears my soul. “All I know is I'm not your problem and I never have been. It's my life, not yours,” I say simply before I turn and walk back out the door to head to my own r
oom.
***
I spend the rest of Thanksgiving in complete solitude. My door no longer locks because Tate broke it, but at least it shuts. I'm now well aware of the fact that either my brother or Noah could simply walk right in if they wanted to. The knowledge of that has me uneasy.
I'd heard Tate come home a long time ago but not once did he come up to see me and I am okay with that. I'm not in the mood to revisit our conversation from earlier. So much has changed and now I fear what life is going to be like living in this household. Noah and Tate were not going to ignore my issues. Every single day was going to be a battle with them.
When Tate eventually comes up to see me, I am not surprised.
He knocks briefly on my door before peering inside to note that I am sitting on my bed, knees drawn up with my arms clasped around them. He holds up a plate as he steps inside. “You've been holed up in here all day, I figure you're probably starved by now,” he says lightly as he walks over to me and holds out the plate.
He's right. I'd been hungry for hours but refused to go downstairs in fear one of them would corner me. The plate is heaped full with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and a dinner roll. Without a word, I accept the plate and put it on the bed. I'd dig in after we were done talking because I was well aware that my brother wouldn't be leaving my room without bringing up the drama from earlier today.
“May I?” Tate asks, motioning to the bed.
“Go for it.”
He sits down beside me and sighs. “I know you don't want to hear this, but you need help, Blayre.”
“That's not for you to decide.”
Tate's eyes turn troubled as he gazes at me. “I'm aware of that. But don't you want to get better? You can't enjoy what you do, I saw it in your eyes. I think you hate it just as much as I do but you're stuck, aren't you?”
I find myself looking away as I reach out and pick up a small piece of turkey. I pop it in my mouth and chew so I don't have to answer right away. Eventually, I say, “It doesn't matter because it's my life.”
“Bull. It's not just your life it affects. It affects mine and more likely Noah's as well if he cares about you.”
“I can handle it on my own.”
“Bull,” he repeats softly.
“Tate, give it a rest,” I plead as I meet his gaze. “It's bad enough you know, can we not add pressure to the situation as well. I can only handle so much and Noah is bad enough with all his stupid little hot-line cards. Just give me a break for a bit and let me deal.”
“I'll drop it for the night but I am not going to ignore what you're doing. You need help and somehow we are going to find a way to get you to want it,” he says simply.
I want to argue but I know enough when to keep my mouth shut. Instead, I reach for another piece of turkey and chew.
“So, you and Noah, huh? I'm avoiding him like the plague right now or I'm going to give him a matching black eye,” he says tightly.
Great. We're trading one dreaded topic for another.
“It was one time,” I mutter as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear before I once again wrap my arms around my knees. “One thing led to another and we almost slept together. It hasn't happened since.”
Tate starts turning red, his eyes narrowing. “You're saying it would have just been a one night stand if you hadn't stopped? My best friend almost slept with my sister just to scratch his itch?”
“No! That's not what I said,” I say quickly before Tate can really blow a gasket. “You should know Noah's not like that,” I point out. “He...likes me but we're trying to remain just friends. He felt bad that things escalated behind your back.”
I cannot believe this. Noah started this mess today and here I am defending him to my brother. It figures. Why do I always end up defending the men in my life until I am blue in the face?
“So things are now just platonic between you two?” Tate asks cautiously.
“Yes.” Except for that kiss we'd shared playing video games, but that doesn't count since I've been trying to put it out of my mind since it happened.
“You said he likes you, does that mean he wants more and you don't?”
“Seriously? Do we have to talk about this?”
“I'm trying to figure out how pissed to be at my best friend, so yes, we do,” Tate says firmly.
“Fine. Yes, he wants more. I don't. He's too good for me.”
“Wait—what?” He looks at me with a frown. “You don't really believe that, do you?”
I give him a droll look. “I have so much baggage I'm surprised I don't resemble the Hunch Back of Notre Dame. He needs someone who can give him what he wants and needs. I can't,” I say simply as I reach for the plate. I really wish this conversation would die a quick death.
Tate falls silent. “I love you, Blayre,” he say finally.
I had been about to eat another piece of turkey and my hand pauses near my mouth, my body stiffening. I don't think I've ever heard those words uttered to me before. It makes me uncomfortable.
“Even though you can't say it back, I know you love me too,” he says gently before he rises to his feet.
“Tate?”
He pauses and turns to look at me.
“I'm trying, okay? I'm trying to make things better,” I say earnestly.
He nods, looking relieved. “Good. It's a start,” he says lightly before he heads for the door.
Determination
Finding the inner strength to make the
impossible, possible
Breakfast is beyond awkward the next morning. I find myself concerned about leaving Noah and Tate on their own so I get up at the usual time and sure enough, they are both in the kitchen. Noah is at the stove making an omelet and Tate sits dressed in his uniform, drinking a glass of orange juice while reading the newspaper at the island counter.
Both men are completely silent and ignoring each other. Well...Noah every so often glances at Tate while my brother outright ignores him. I miss their usual banter. Without a word to either of them, I head for the refrigerator and pull out a banana. When I head for the stool next to my brother, he smiles warmly at me. I smile back and hope for the best. Today will be a good day if no one talks to me about my issues.
Tate sets the newspaper aside and looks at me. “So, what are your plans for the day?”
I sigh. It's Thanksgiving break, which means no school until next week. “I don't know. Paige is gone and Cole and I are done, so I guess I'll just be sitting around all day.”
“Laundry needs to be done.”
“I'd rather clean the upstairs bathroom with a toothbrush,” I say with a shudder.
My brother laughs and rustles my hair before rising to his feet. “We're having dinner tonight, so be ready by five,” he says lightly before he saunters off.
As I pick up my banana and begin to peel it, I wonder if I should be worried. Was he going to grill me over dinner tonight? I sure as hell hope not. My attention shifts to Noah who had just put his omelet on a plate and is looking at the island counter hesitantly, obviously debating where he should sit since I'm currently mad at him.
Or I had been.
It's impossible to stay mad at the man, especially since his eye is all black and blue, and slightly swollen. I wait until his eyes shift towards my face before I tell him he can sit by me, that I won't attack him.
He studies me for a second before he walks over and sits down. He looks all rumpled and cute this morning. His hair is slightly messier than his stylishly messy look and he's wearing a pair of jeans torn at the knee and an old tee shirt.
I turn to him and he looks up from his breakfast and watches my lips curiously. “I shouldn't have thrown you under the bus yesterday,” I confess.
Surprise flickers in his brown gaze and then he shrugs. “He would have found out sooner or later,” he says lightly.
“Probably, but it was still wrong to do what I did. I was really upset and I took it out on you.”
“I did
n't want to hurt you, Blayre. I'm just worried.”
“I'm fine. Have you tried talking to Tate?” I ask, quickly switching the topic.
“I figured I'd let him cool off first before I approach him.”
“I'm worried about him,” I say with a sigh. “He has a nasty temper and I'm surprised he's being so calm about Steve and Julie.”
Noah shakes his head. “That's what he wants you to see. He's pissed and I'm sure Vince talked him down from whatever he originally had planned. But he will go after them and you need to let him.”
“I just want to forget about them,” I mutter before staring at my banana with troubled eyes.
“You can't forget about them when they haunt your every move,” Noah points out bluntly.
My body tenses and I reluctantly look at him. “No, they don't.”
“No? The way you react, the way you feel, it all comes down to what they did to you. The pain you inflict on yourself—that's their doing as well. Until you acknowledge it and get better, they'll always be with you. You can't put them in the past until you let it all go,” he says seriously.
“And I suppose this is where you bring up rehab again, isn't it?” I ask sarcastically as I glare at him.
“Why are you so afraid of it? Don't you want to get better, to throw all the shit they did back in their face? Going to rehab will give you your life back.”
“I can do it on my own. I don't want some stranger picking at my brain. There's no way I'm going to just sit and let some freaky doctor try to pull all this crap out of me. If I don't want to talk about it to you or Tate, what makes you think I'd want to unload it all on some shrink?” I demand.
“Have you considered that talking to a stranger might be easier than talking to someone you know? They'll have no preconceived notions of you and they won't judge you because they don't know you.”
I look away and study my banana as if it's the most fascinating thing in the world. I want to get better on my own because the idea of allowing a stranger into my head scares me. So did going to a rehabilitation center. I had no doubt that I'd be under twenty-four-hour surveillance because of my need to harm myself. It'd be like a prison and I'd have no way to help control my emotions and no way to feed my need for pain.
Unraveled (Twisted Series) Page 14