Page 48 of Reaching Avery
Declan came over to me, having to look down a bit since I was shorter than him. “What’s goin’ on?”
Staring at him, I fought for words. Too much was on my mind, and I felt like my head was about to pop off.
“I think I’m gay.” My confession didn’t faze him, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “But that’s not what’s bothering me.” My throat tightened and my hands trembled. “It’s just all of it, D. I like a guy who likes me too, but I can’t do anything about it because we’re not right for each other. And what if I’m not actually gay and I’m just confusing attraction for something else? What if we try and I change my mind?”
“Sounds like a lot ofwhat ifsto me,” Declan answered. “You’re thinking way too much into this, A. If you like the guy, go for it. Who gives a crap about gay, straight, bi, whatever? Labels suck. If it feels right, it’s right.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple.”
“Why?” he asked in a louder tone. “Why can’t it be like that?”
“Because I’m screwed up in the head, Declan,” I said and something surged through me, making it hard to breathe. It felt like my body was on fire. I didn’t know if I was going to cry or punch something, but the feeling was intense. “I don’t know if I can ever trust him—or anyone—to ever let them get close to me. Dad really messed me up.”
My breaths turned to gasps, and I bent over to rest my hands on my legs. Images flashed through my head: me punching Maverick, the look on his face after I did, and the expression I now recognized as rejection that’d marked his face, along with the mark from my left hook.
“Dude, just take a deep breath,” Declan said, and he reached to touch my back, but he withdrew his hand right before contact. “What can I do?”
I usually kept my shit together for his sake. Seeing me that way must’ve worried him, but I couldn’t control it. I was done with feeling out of control, feeling like I was in the ocean with my head barely above the water. Drowning. I just wanted tobe. To not have to think as much or agonize over every little thing. To be able to breathe and not feel like the weight on my shoulders was crushing me into dust… or pushing me under the waves.
I wanted it all to slip away until there was nothing but peace.
“Nothing,” I answered, straightening my stance and running a shaking hand through my long hair. I put the wall back up as I met his worried stare. “I’m okay. Sorry for freaking out. I’ve just been stressed and I guess it made me lose it a bit.”
And it killed me a little inside when he smiled, believing me.
“Okay, but if you need to talk, I’m here,” he said. “Jeopardy is on, if you wanna watch it with me.”
“Maybe later,” I said, offering the closest thing to a smile I could.
I left his side and walked down the hall. With each step toward the bathroom—toward my dirty little secret—I hated myself. I didn’t want to do it, but then I did. I hated it, but it was also one of the only things that helped me feel in control.
In the bathroom, I closed the door and turned the lock. I stood in place a moment, just staring at the spot I knew I’d go to, no matter how badly I knew I shouldn’t. My whole body shook, and it was as if there was this energy inside me that needed to be released.
It was more than energy, though, it was a wrongness.
Only cutting would help it leave.
I opened the cabinet beneath the sink and reached up to grab the plastic bag that held my own personal hell.
When my fingers took hold of the razor, relief flitted through me. As did fear. Not fear of the pain, but fear because sometimes, I didn’t want to stop. That was part of it, though—having that control of when I stopped.
If I stopped.
Not wanting people to see evidence of my cutting, I hardly did it on my arms. Instead, I did it on my upper thighs. After I unbuttoned my pants and slid them down, I sat in the bathtub. There were deep scars on my legs, while some were shallower. Some faded and some darker. Some were years old and others were fresh.
I placed the blade on my skin. One breath. Two.
Tears blurred my vision.
I applied pressure and suppressed a cry. But as all the disgusting parts of myself began trickling away, I didn’t feel pain. I felt bliss. A kind of euphoria I couldn’t get anywhere else.
As wrong as I knew it was, for that instant, I could only think about how it felt so right.
