Page 114 of Defend Me

Touching the skull, I looked up at him. “These are tattoos…”

“Glad you can identify things. This one’s a moon.” He tapped the opposite leg.

“Yeah, I see that. But this… Did you do these yourself?”

“Yup. I’m what’s known as an artist.” He touched my lips, which were turned down in a frown.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I said.

“In this house, we possess bodily autonomy.”

“Brooks.” My firm tone made him purse his lips. “Why do you do this?”

He shrugged. “I like it. Tattoos are unbecoming of someone in the professional world, but if I do it myself, it doesn’t make me feel guilty. And I like the way it feels.”

If I expected him to be ashamed of it, I was mistaken. He sounded proud.

“You like the pain,” I guessed.

“It helps when I’m talking to my mom.”

“God, Brooks.”

He pushed my hand away. “Don’t do that. I’m not some wounded thing.”

“I’m pretty sure this counts as self-harm.”

“Maybe.”

“And you don’t care?”

“Everything is something, baby. Some people hurt themselves with food, others gamble, and a huge amount of people binge social media. If I turn my pain into art, the only one who’s affected is me, and I don’t really care.”

“What if it gets worse?”

He touched my cheek. “It won’t. I’m not suicidal or anything. If I wanted to actually harm myself, I’d do drugs or something.”

“You numb yourself.”

He pulled his hand back, but I caught it and brought it back to my face.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I do that, but again, it’s just a fucking coping mechanism. I need places where things don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to beme.”

“What would it take for you to be happy, Brooks?”

When he didn’t answer, I thrust my fingers into his wet hair and moved closer to him.

“Tell me.”

“You make me happy. Aside from that, I don’t have a clue.”

“I don’t want you to do this anymore.”

“Boo hiss.”

“I’m serious.”

Without saying anything, he pumped some shampoo into his palm. He started massaging it into my hair and while it felt good, I was still hung up on our conversation.

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