Craving Lucy (Lucy & Harris 2)

“Do you know how hard it is to get something on the Internet pulled?” she demanded. “Honey, once it’s out there, it’s out there for life. I can’t make any promises that this won’t blow up and go viral. Harris is a big deal. With the success of his club and being the son of Devlin Cutter, if the press gets hold of this, it’s over.”

Fresh fear and tears burned through me and I lowered my head, unable to keep from sobbing. “P-please, Aunt Emmie. Please try.”

“Ah, honey.” She crouched down in front of me and took my hands in hers. “I’ll do my best, Lucy. I promise, I’ll do all I can. But I’m going to have to make some calls because I can’t do this on my own.”

Unable to speak through the knot of emotions in my throat, all I could do was nod. Emmie held my hand for a moment longer before giving it a gentle squeeze and standing. She moved around her desk and sat in her chair before picking up the phone on her desk.

Even before she started dialing, I knew who she was calling. Moment’s later Emmie spoke into the receiver. “Natalie? Your stepson needs you…”

While Emmie talked, filling in her second-in-command on everything I’d told her, I tried to tune it out. Tried to push it all away and hide from the pain that was making my entire body ache with it. I couldn’t think when my emotions got this tangled up, couldn’t breathe.

Not looking at my aunt, I excused myself and rushed down the hall to the bathroom. When I was inside with the door locked, I put my hands on the sides of the sink and lowered my head so that I didn’t have to look at myself in the mirror.

It hadn’t been this bad in a long time. I’d been dealing with it, coping. Harris had made it better. Made me better. Now, with my heart so shattered and my brain a mess of confused emotions, I had to do something or I wasn’t going to walk out of this bathroom with myself completely intact.

I pushed away from the sink and opened up the cupboard that had fresh towels, extra toilet paper, and other things a guest might need. Including a pack of disposable razors. They were open so I grabbed one and took off the protective guard. Sitting

on the edge of the tub, I lifted my left foot, took off my shoe, and looked at my toes.

There were little scars under each toe, all of them self-inflicted. No one knew what I did and I’d always made sure it stayed that way. I’d started cutting when I was twelve. It had started by complete accident. I’d cut the bottom of my foot on something sharp out on the beach one day, and the pain…

The pain had taken my mind off the things that had been churning through my head back then. I’d still been unable to deal with what had happened when I was nine, when my biological father had taken me. I’d felt like there was no one I could talk to, no one who would understand. But the pain that had come from that cut had been almost releasing. I’d been able to focus on it for a little while and, oddly enough, it had helped me breathe. Sleeping at night had come easier and until that cut had healed I’d felt almost like my old self—the me I’d been before that terrible night.

Afterward, when the cut had healed, I’d been okay for a little while. But things had started to build up again and one night I’d realized that maybe I could make myself okay again. If I hurt physically, then the emotional pain was bearable. I could handle it. But it had to be somewhere that no one would see, somewhere that no one would think to look or be concerned about if I cut too deep. It couldn’t be my arms or my legs. We lived in Malibu where you were expected to wear shorts seventy-five percent of the time. The bottom of my feet was the only place I’d been able to think of, so I’d used my razor and sliced little nicks just under my toes.

The pain had been instant and so had the relief. With each little drop of blood that had dripped into the tub, I’d been able to breathe easier.

Over the years I’d realized that what I was doing was bad, that I was hurting myself. Normal people just didn’t do that to themselves. So I’d tried to find other ways to cope—breathing exercises, workouts, doing an extra session with my therapist—and slowly I’d gotten a handle on my need to cut.

Right now wasn’t one of those times when deep breathing exercises were going to help, however. I needed to get as far away from the pain churning inside of me as possible.

Grabbing a big handful of toilet paper, I got it ready as I slid the knife under my big toe. The blade sliced deeper than I was going for, but that was okay. The pain was welcomed. I pressed the toilet paper to the blood pouring out and took in my first deep breath since I’d opened my phone.

I let the cut bleed for a minute before putting pressure on it. Once I’d gotten the blood flow slowed down, I limped back to the cupboard and found a bandage. Wrapping it around the deep cut, I placed my foot back into my ballet slipper before hiding the razor in the wastebasket and washed my hands.

By the time I made it back to Emmie’s office, she was just hanging up the phone. As I took my chair once again, she gave me a grim smile. “Natalie is going over to check on Harris. As for the video, I have five of the best computer minds working to get the videos taken down. They are already on ten sites, but one of my guys was able to get them pulled.”

Relief burned like acid through me. “But what about Tessa? We can’t let her get away with this, Aunt Emmie.”

“She’s not going to. I’ve spoken with Seller who does all our security. He’s going to handle her.” She sat back in her chair, her big green eyes softening a little as she took me in. “The only thing you really need to worry about right now, Lucy, is you. What are you going to do about Harris?”

Just thinking about him made my chest hurt. I curled my injured toe and let out a long breath. “I don’t know,” I told her honestly. I couldn’t think about what was going to happen with me and Harris. It was too much. Not even the pain in my foot could help me deal with what tomorrow might bring with us. “I just don’t know.”

“Well, that’s a reasonable answer. Layla and Lana both decided to run when they got hurt, so you not knowing is a lot more mature than just picking up and running away.”

I frowned. I’d known that Lana had run to New York after Drake did something stupid, but my mom? “Mom ran? I don’t remember that.”

Emmie shrugged. “She almost ran. She overheard your dad and I talking and assumed something that just wasn’t true. She was packing when Jesse found her and convinced her she had it wrong and asked her to marry him. You were at a sleepover, I think. It was right before we all went to Vegas and they got married.”

“Oh…” I frowned. So they had both ran—or at least tried to. Had it helped? When Lana had left, running away from her pain at losing Drake, had it helped her?

I really needed to know the answer to that.

To be continued…