Then…Mama.
Little Henry…
His chubby little fingers squeezing at my heart…
Even now, the vein in my thigh throbbed along with my beating heart.
The scar.
I’d first cut myself when I found out Talon had been taken as a result of my own conception. Wendy Madigan, Ryan’s birth mother, had been obsessed with my father, and when my mother turned up pregnant with me, Wendy had made him pay.
And she’d made Talon pay. My poor middle brother had been the real victim.
When I’d found out, I’d been distraught. Nothing helped the emotional pain.
Nothing…except self-harm.
I kept the cutting high on my thigh where no one would see. Bryce had brushed against it more than once but had never asked me about it.
I was thankful, for I had no idea what I’d tell him if he did.
It didn’t matter at this point. We’d never be in the situation where he’d see it again.
And still the scar throbbed.
I’m here, it echoed. I’m always here when you need me. I am what you can count on. Always. Always. Always.
I drove into the driveway. Parked my car. Walked to the house.
Still my thigh throbbed in time with my heart.
I raced to the kitchen. It was empty, thank God. I opened the refrigerator and let the cold air whoosh over my body.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Let the cold air saturate you. Let it consume you. Numb you.
You don’t need to hurt yourself.
You don’t need to hurt yourself.
You don’t need to hurt.
Don’t need to
Don’t need—
I shut the refrigerator door quickly.
More. I needed more.
I raced to my room, closed and bolted the door. I yanked my purse off my shoulder and spilled the contents on to my bed. From there I could access the zippered pocket.
Home to my blade.
These are my friends…
The words to the song from Sweeney Todd echoed in my mind, a love song to his razors.