I leave Trouble and Judge to follow me back to the table. The others are watching my approach, but my eyes are only on Rella. Guilt clenches my gut, knowing she saw that side of me. It’s a side I used to relish, but that at this moment I hate.
I stop when I’m a couple of feet away and look down at her, letting her see the regret on my face.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out.
Her bottom lip gets tugged between her teeth and she nods. Her eyes dart around to the others before she settles them back on mine. “Are you okay?”
My brows slash down. Why in the hell is she asking me if I’m okay? She’s the one who just witnessed me smashing a guy’s face in.
“Yes,” I lie, because I’m definitely not okay. I’ve got too much shit flying through my head. Too many emotions running rampant. I hate it. Emotions have the potential to make a person weak, and I’ll never be weak again.
I SIT ON THE EDGE OF the chair, my knees bouncing and my hand roughly fingering the key in my pocket. Feeling the key through the thick denim doesn’t do shit for the anxiety running through my veins. Rella’s been in the bathroom for thirty minutes, meaning she’s been out of my sight for just as long. I know my need to see her at all times is irrational, but fuck if I know how to stop it, and I’m not sure I want to.
Getting up from the chair, I start pacing the room. I drag my hand through my hair in irritation, stopping when I get to my neck and gripping the muscle hard. My skin feels tight, and a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. Shaking my head, I try to think about something else besides the fact that Rella never takes this long when she showers. Something feels wrong. She seemed fine after we came back from dinner and she went to the bathroom, but it could have been an act. It wouldn’t surprise me if her nerves were shot after witnessing what I did at The Hill. Maybe she’s as good as me at
hiding her true feelings.
I shoot a look at the closed door. Worry has me walking over and pressing my hand against it, as if I’ll be able to somehow feel her on the other side. Steam billows from the crack at the bottom, and I swear, her scent comes out with it. I breathe in deep, hoping her smell will alleviate some of my restlessness. It doesn’t.
I hear something on the other side of the door that has my blood running cold. I lean closer and press my ear against the wood. It’s barely noticeable, but I make out soft sobs. My heart slams against my sternum and my stomach pitches.
I grip the doorknob, but pause. Should I go get Trouble? Or better yet, Remi? There’s no telling what I’d be walking into. She could be naked, so it might be better for a female to check on her.
Another sob comes, and I make up my mind. There’s no way I’ll waste the time getting someone else, not when she’s obviously in some sort of pain.
I twist the knob and push the door open. I stop in the doorway, and my whole fucking world crashes down around me. My chest cracks open, and my heart splinters right down the middle.
Rella’s sitting down, wedged between the toilet and the shower, a razor blade in her bloodied hand. She’s only wearing a pair of panties and the shirt she had on tonight. The insides of her thighs are covered in blood. Her face is pale and crumpled in pain, tears running rivers down her cheeks.
She lifts her head and locks eyes with me. Shame and torment mix with utter despair.
On numb legs, I walk over and drop to my knees in front of her.
“What are you doing?” My whispered words come out tortured.
More tears fall from her eyes. “I just want it to stop,” she cries. “Why won’t it go away? I don’t want to be like this anymore. Please, Aziah. I don’t know what to do.”
I reach out and take the razor blade from her shaky hand. She doesn’t try to stop me, and I drop it in the shower. I grab her under her arms, lift her up, plop down on my ass, and set her down across my lap. The thought of her reacting badly to me touching her doesn’t even cross my mind. Apparently, it doesn’t cross hers either, because she clutches my shirt, getting as close to me as she can.
A boulder sits on my chest as I listen to her cry against my shoulder. Her fingers fist my shirt repeatedly. I feel so Goddamn helpless because I don’t know what to do to help her.
“Shh…,” I whisper over and over and run my fingers through her thick brown hair. “Everything is going to be okay.” I don’t know if I speak the truth, but I hope like fuck I am.
I don’t know how long we sit there, but my eyes stay glued to the blood on her thighs the whole time. My chest tightens each time a fresh bead slides from the cuts.
I lift her head from my chest and cup her tearstained cheeks. “I need to get Trouble so he can take care of those.”
“No!” she cries, grabbing my shirt and pulling my face closer to hers. “Please. I don’t want him to know.” Her voice lowers and cracks with her next words. “He would be so ashamed of me.”
I shake my head. “No, Rella. He would never be ashamed of you.”
“Please,” she says emphatically. “He can’t ever know.”
At her desperate look, I give in and slowly nod.
Her shoulders droop and she licks the tears from her lips. “Thank you.”
Her eyes move to my shoulders, down my arms, to my hand resting on her side before darting back up to meet mine. They widen in surprise. I hold my breath, expecting her at any minute to scramble from my lap. Anxiety surfaces on her face as she bites her lip, but she makes no move to get up.