Breaking Perfect

Tears rolled down her cheeks and she began to shake. What the fuck should he do? “I’m calling Mason,” he said suddenly, not knowing what else to do.

“No!” she shouted. He froze and she fell apart right before his eyes. He caught her in his arms as she began to sob.

“Talk to me, Lib. Tell me what you need.”

Her entire body shook with the force of her tears. “I need…I need to get it out.”

“Get what out?” He held her tight, sensing she needed the closeness, needed to feel secure.

“I don’t want to hurt myself, but I can’t stop it. It’s like a snake crawling through my veins.”

“Tell me what to do to make it stop.”

“There’s nothing you can do. I just have to wait it out or exorcise it in ways that aren’t good.”

“You mean like burning yourself.”

She turned away as if too ashamed to verbalize it. He wasn’t a psychological person in any way, shape or form. At least Mason had taken a few psych classes in college and read up on Liberty’s disorder. Why hadn’t he taken the time to do that the moment he agreed to move in? She just seemed so well adjusted and normal, aside from being a clean freak. She made it easy to forget she was sick.

“Liberty, are you saying only pain will make it go away?”

“That or time.”

Fuck! Fuck this bitch for calling and getting Liberty so upset. He ground his teeth together and thought for a moment, as he looked down and tensed. The entire time he had been holding her she had been scraping her nail along her skin leaving a mark. “No!”

When they were kids they called them sissy tests. They used to mark their skin as if to show how tough they were. Stupid thing to do, being that every single one ended as a permanent scar.

He restrained her and she allowed him to do so. She simply looked down and continued to cry. He couldn’t leave her alone. He reached into his pocket, pulled his phone behind her back and texted Mase. He didn’t want to worry him, like Liberty had said. Mason’s job saved lives and someone else may need him more than them at that moment. Thinking of a fast way to get Mase home with as little stress as possible he sent him a text.

We miss you. Lib and I wanted to see if you could take a half day. Y don’t you see if you can get out early? Love ya.

As he slipped his phone back in his pocket he looked down at Liberty. She wasn’t doing well. He had an idea, but wasn’t sure if it would backfire on him. He sighed as he realized he only had one idea to work with. Hopefully when she came out of this dark place she would forgive him. “Okay, little girl. You’re coming with me.”

Chapter Sixteen

Liberty stared numbly at the wall as Sean sat her on the bed. “You with me, Lib?”

She wanted to say she was here, but she couldn’t answer. Answering required talking and talking required feeling. If she let herself feel, let her mind out of the little trap she held her thoughts in, she would shatter. The pain would swallow her whole until she gave way for it to get out.

Her mother’s hateful words echoed through her mind accompanied by haunting visions of her past. Sean kneeled before her, his eyes troubled, and she knew this was her fault. More sins. His hands pried her fingers apart and kissed the gouge she had left in her skin. Sighing, he turned and moved to the nightstand. He returned a second later with a long sash.

“Don’t hate me, okay?” His voice was ragged.

He pressed her wrists together, her palms curling against one another, as he wove the sash tightly around her hands. Her fingers could cross, but she could no longer scratch herself. He bound her hands until her palms were flattened together as if she were saying her prayers.

“Lay back.” He eased her shoulder back and guided her to the bed. His touch was light and gentle. He was always so careful. She frowned as she felt him undo her pants and slide them off her legs, followed by her panties. What was he doing?

He stood and watched her for a moment. His brow creased as if in deep conflict. He paced and then came to stand at the foot of the bed again. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself and paced some more. Finally he seemed to reach some sort of decision. “God, forgive me.”

He removed his pants and shirt. His penis was flaccid against the backdrop of his hard body. Liberty curiously watched him through teary eyes as he approached her. He reached between her legs and briefly touched her dry folds. His touch wasn’t sexual, but clinical.