Page 28 of Even in the Dark

I sink back into the cushions, my senses still on high alert, rattled into a state of heightened awareness. Not at all the mood I was shooting for when I settled in for the evening to do my nails and maybe watch a couple ofThe Officere-runs.

And yes, I wanted to see Dylan at his weakest, but now that I have, all I feel is unsettled. There’s none of the relief I would expect after having glimpsed his cracks, soothed by the confirmation that Dylan Braun isn’t, in fact, infallible.

“Dylan? Are you out here?” Diane’s voice pierces the silence. She pops her head out of the opening of one of the patio doors.

Dylan looks over… doesn’t say anything—just leans down and palms the knife; lifts his butt again and slips the blade back into his pocket. From his position tucked along one of the steps cut into the terraced lawn, his dark form would be pretty hard to spot if you didn’t know where to look.

He swivels his body and slides his left forearm slowly across the grass, wiping off the blood, presumably. Still so casual, though. More like he’s wiping off a smear of chocolate or something, rather than his own blood.

“Dylan? Is that you? Over on the steps?”

He pulls his sleeve back down, not even bothering to glance at whatever damage he’s inflicted. The fact that the whole process is so cavalier is almost as disturbing as the actual act of cutting himself.

Diane steps outside and walks to the edge of the highest patio. “Dylan! You need to answer when I’m talking to you… You’ve been out here for a while. I’d like you to come inside now. Your father’s going to be home in a few minutes.”

God, it must be so weird being treated like an eight-year-old all the time. Everyone keeping close tabs on your whereabouts, even in your own backyard.

Dylan pushes himself up, scanning the ground around him once he’s standing.

“Come on inside please,” Diane calls out again. “Lord, aren’t you cold out here in just a sweatshirt?”

He ignores her, nudging his skateboard with his toe, doing that thing again where he pops it into his hand. Then he turns and heads up the terraced lawn towards the house. Diane says something to him, but I can’t hear now that she isn’t shouting anymore. Once he reaches the top deck, the two of them slip through the opening into the warm glow of their sitting room.

I slide off the window seat, still shaken up. Put away the nail polish, tossing the soiled tissues in the bathroom garbage because the chemical smell is so strong it’s overpowering the vanilla from my diffuser. Then I take a long shower. And although it calms my breathing, I still feel weird. Disturbed.

Even after watching a couple ofTheOfficeepisodes, my thoughts are racing. So, I give up and go to bed early. I don’t fall asleep until several hours later.

Chapter Twelve

Dylan

No idea how long I’ve been in the shower. I bet I could stay here for days and the water would never turn cold. It’s the only place in this house that feels totally private. Only place I can breathe normally, most times.

The water’s been running clear for a while now, so I’m guessing I’ve been in here for a long time. Not even a tinge of pink in the water that trails down my forearm when I lift it up to check. I’ll wrap it after and it’ll be fine. Just something to keep it from opening up and seeping through my shirt.

“Dylan?” There’s a loud rap on the door that makes me jolt. “You alright in there?”

I let out a long sigh.

They can’t say they want me to feel comfortable here but also check on me every twenty minutes. Those two things can’t happen at the same time. Seems like that isn’t exactly rocket science, either. But Phil knows about the cutting—from the doctors at Clive. They told him everything—about my physicalhealth, my mental health, my entirelife—stuff I probably don’t even know about myself. Wasn’t cutting while I was at Clive, though. Twenty-four-fucking-seven supervision in that place. Couldn’t have any personal belongings in your room except maybe a book.

Think Phil suspects now, though. I see him throwing glances at my arms anytime I have a T-shirt on. Pretty sure if I wear long sleeves too many days in a row, he’ll ask to check. He’s paranoid about everything with me.Onlyme, as far as I can tell. Seems chill as fuck about everything else in his life. Also smart as hell—which is the other reason I think he suspects about me not really being done with the cutting. Either way, I know he suspects. Flat out told me I’m not allowed sharp objects in my room or my bathroom. Never leaves me alone in the kitchen. Never leaves me alone anywhere, really, if he can help it.

Wonder if he’ll check me back into a place like Clive, if he finds out. If he doesn’t, Diane sure as hell will.

Irony here, though, is that the cutting is the one thing that keeps me sane. From losing it completely and tipping right off the deep end. Not sure they’d get that, though.

Scarlett was right this morning when she said she’s the only one who doesn’t have some kind of expectation from me. Still, I hate thinking she’s right about anything. Don’t hate thinking about her, though, and I should.

Shouldn’t think about how pretty she is. Or how I never know what she’s gonna say. Sure as hell shouldn’t be curious about her.

“Dylan?” Phil calls more loudly. Knocking with his fist, it sounds like, instead of just his knuckles this time. “You’ve been in there for a while… Everything okay?”

I squeeze my eyes shut, tipping my head back. Let the water run down my face as I drag my hands through my hair. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“Come on out, alright?”

Yeah, he suspects something.

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