Page 52 of This Side of Beautiful

Janae stared at me for what seemed like forever before she broke out into a loud sob and covered her face. “Sorry. Sorry.”

My pulse raced as I pushed her hands down, trying to replay my words in my head again. “Did I go too far? I told you my mind doesn’t always filter what I should say or not say.”

She started rocking back and forth and wouldn’t look at me. Her face was mottled red and scrunched up again. She fought to free her hands.

I wouldn’t release them. “Please. Why are you crying?”

“No reason. You can let my hands go. I’m fine.”

I dropped her hands, and Janae continued to rock in place, her hands scratching her arms like she itched. She blinked rapidly, and her voice shook. “Keep talking… so you only get nervous off the stage… dealing with the people?”

“Janae, that’s not important right now.” I shook my head, refusing to talk about me when she was clearly upset. “I’m being honest like you asked, and you won’t tell me why you’re crying. If it’s something I said, please tell me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you when I can tell you’ve been hurt before.”

Janae screamed, “Why can’t you just leave it alone? Why can’t you let me change the conversation when I asked you what’s wrong with you first?” She shoved my chest. “Read the room, Landon. It’s everything you said.”

Janae’s taunting words about the lack of social awareness I’d heard so often pricked my thin skin, and I punched the air between us. “You want to know what’s wrong with me? I don’t get women. I don’t always know how to read the room, and I don’t play the games that other men do. I only know how to say what I think and what I feel, if she even gives a damn about my opinion.”

Her eyes were wild, and her hands curled into fists like she wanted to fight me.

“I try to stay away from you because you invade my every waking thought. I haven’t been able to sleep knowing you are under the same roof as I am. It messes with me that all I have to do is knock on your door, and you’ll let me have you. I also know you’ll break my damn heart, and I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. That’s my truth. Like right now, you’re crying and pissed with me because I answered your question. I know you’re not using because your eyes are not dead. If you can’t handle my truth, don’t ask.”

Her face crumpled before she scrambled out of bed. “You’re right. I can’t handle it. And you don’t have to worry about my breaking your heart. I finally know when to walk away from a man first.”

“Janae,” I said, and she shut the door firmly behind her.

I ran my hand down over my face. I’d messed up, and for the life of me, I had no idea what I’d said or done.

Chapter Seventeen

janae

Afraid I would see oneof the guys, I ran through the house and up the stairs as fast as I could. I couldn’t take the throbbing pain. Landon had read me from head to toe. Everything I hated about myself, he noticed. I hated that restlessness had been my middle name since I was a child. My mother used to pinch and hit me to remain still at church and at the dinner table until she gave up. I was the disruptive girl in class who would talk too much or get up without asking permission, because to sit too long physically hurt. I would get into fights with boys and girls at school because I would react to the simplest comment instead of wondering if the other person truly meant to insult me. After a while, it became easier not to make any friends.

I’d wanted to yell until my lungs bled when Landon said he could tell I was sad. That my eyes were only two things… either dead or sad. Three years of being alone, working hard on myself, staying sober, and I was still depressed. Landon had called out the parts of me that I thought I’d hidden… that I thought no one noticed, like they were the most obvious thing about me. He had seen me. He saw me.

And what he saw, he didn’t want. Or even if he did, sooner or later, he wouldn’t.

Howdarehe tell me how consumed he was with me and that all my heart wanted to do was sing, only to chase his genuine feelings with how he believed I’d break his heart and that he’d never recover? The truth of the matter was that I’d never broken a man’s heart. They always left me or never claimed me in the first place. I’d wanted to laugh in his face and tell him that he would wreck me long before I ever hurt him. I wanted to scream that he’d gotten it all wrong. No one had ever truly loved me. Even the man I’d thought loved me for four years looked at his new woman in a way he’d never looked at me.

Busting through my bedroom door and locking it behind me, I scoured my suitcases for any pills I might have forgotten about. I had to find peace. Every inch of my body throbbed and begged for release.God, help me. God… please… I couldn’t… This was too much.Why me? Why allow me to be thisclose to heaven, only to land in hell?

Fuck.Fuck. Nothing.

I rushed to the bathroom and found my razor in my toiletry bag. I sank to the cold floor and pushed up my shorts to cut the top of my thigh. No man would see my inner thigh anyway. My ex had stopped sexing me a long time ago. The meds took away the things I hated, like my uncontrollable moods, dark thoughts, my impulsivity, and my restlessness, along with the parts of me I loved especially my creativity, my sexuality, and my carefree approach to life. How could I possibly win in this battle for my mind… for the battle of my heart and my soul?

I pressed the razor against my thigh, anticipating the rush of emotions and then the sweet, sweet release when the red line appeared against the brown of my skin. The sharp pain hurt more than I recalled, and the silver razor clanged when it hit the ceramic floor. I stared at my leg, and the cut began to clot, showing little blood because I didn’t slice as deep as I had in the past. How could that be? In the past, I’d barely felt any pain. I’d always reveled in the blood that leaked from my self-inflicted wound.

I looked past the ceiling to the great beyond reminding myself that Iwashealing. My physical pain was greater than my emotional pain. I could push through the darkness. A sliver of light peeked behind the gray clouds.

Slowly pushing up from the floor, I stared at my reflection. My eyes were wounded, like I’d just lost everything that I’d ever loved. I brushed back my wild hair, studying my face. My high cheekbones, the soft hair that framed my oval, asymmetrical face. The diamond chip in my nose, so tiny that it went undetected unless the light hit it a certain way. My full, bow-shaped lips, perfect for pouting and any lip shade. Like my mother’s, my skin was flawless, except for an occasional breakout because of makeup and improper cleaning. I could say without flinching that I was a beautiful woman. I could see what others saw and not the ugliness my mind often saw.

I kept looking at myself until my eyes only seemed sad and no longer desolate. Happiness would take time, and I would get there someday, I vowed to myself.

In the shower, I bowed my head and allowed the hot water to run over my hair and body. I couldn’t keep being afraid of my moods, scared to sleep, and when I would be triggered. I was no longer locked away in my condo, watching TV, exercising, writing music, and journaling. I was out in the world with people who could hurt me, even if unintentionally, like Landon. The more I engaged with the public, the more the inevitable scrutiny of my past behavior and decisions that I’d made would resurface. I’d been warmly received thus far and still felt like breaking with the tiniest mark against myself. What would happen to my psyche when I was publicly ridiculed or criticized? The last time that happened, I’d tried to take my own life.

It was time I fully accepted my struggles. If a man who’d only known me for a short time could see me, it didn’t make sense to hide anymore if I truly wanted to heal. I had to learn to be vulnerable with others and trust in me, my treatment team, and the process of living with this disorder.

Wrapping towels around my hair and body, I perched on the edge of the bed and called Del.

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