Page 76 of The Same Backward as Forward
“Lay back and stay still,” Hannah orders.
For once, I do as I’m told, and Hannah gets to work. She peels me back, layer by layer. Some cuts are painless. Some aren’t. Eventually, my control starts to slip, but even when I hurl obscenities, the hand holding that scalpel never shakes.
Hannah would make an excellent doctor, and I am the devil in disguise.
And so it goes, session after session, day after day, as much as I can take. Eventually, instead of cursing as she scrapes away at dead skin among living nerves, I tell myself a story.Once upon a time, there was a girl named Hannah…
It’s a story with a villain, one in which a little girl builds sky-high walls to protect herself. It’s the kind of fairy tale in which anger is a superpower and a liability both, and only control can tip the needle between the two.
It’s not fair, really, that she has to have so very much control.Hannah the Same Backward as Forward deserves to feel her fury and show it, too.
I do my part on that front, swearing at her and willing her to swear right back at me.Show me who you really are.
“Are you done?” she demands.
“Go ahead,” I tell her. “Let it out. Call me every name in the book.Asshole. Bastard. Son of a bitch.”
“I don’t need to call you anything. You’re doing just fine on your own. Please continue.”
I don’t. She waits to see if I really am done, and I look at her the way I did in those days of silence after our first wager.Upside-down lips. Everything eyes. That strong, strong jaw.
Hannah works quietly, steadily, and then: “Yes.” There are layers in her tone, soft and deep. “To the question you asked me before:Yes, I want you to feel it.” There’s not a hint of passion in her tone, but her eyes tell a different story. “I want it to hurt.” Her touch is so gentle that another person might believe she doesn’t mean it.
I know that she does.
“I want it to hurt,” my backlit angel murmurs softly, “youson of a bitch.”
And still, she’s so very careful, and every time I think that I might not make it any further, a cool, damp cloth is pressed lightly against my temple.
“It’s never going to be enough.” I direct those words at the ceiling, because I’m too much of a coward to look at her even one more time right now. “You know that, don’t you, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward?” I close my eyes, and flames dance on the back of my eyelids. “The world takes, and it takes, and it takes, and we burn, and we burn, and we burn—and it’s never enough.”
Chapter 12
Moreis my best defense against the dreams. As long as I’m high, my mind is blissfully quiet. But as my body starts to heal—really heal—Hannah starts to cut back on the oxy.
“I’m guessing you’re a virgin.” Withdrawal makes me mean. I use my gaze to trace the outline of her lips.
Hannah the Same Backward as Forward is not amused.
“You’re too easy,” I tell her. I should stop there, but I don’t. “You don’t like being looked at.” I pause. “Tasted,” I continue, like I can taste her just by looking, “like wine.”
“Better wine than barbecue.”
I snort. Dark humor suits her so much better than bulletproof reserve. “Touché, Hannah the Same Backward as Forward.” I prop myself up, bringing my face closer to hers. “I’m nicer when I’m high,” I tell her. “And, coincidentally,youare also nicer when I’m high.”
“No,” Hannah snaps. The very idea of beingniceto me gets her back up. “I’m not.”
She really believes that. It’s remarkable to me that healing Hannah does not see herself askind. I can only assume that she is used to kindness being mistaken for weakness.
Hannah is many things, but she is not weak.
I am.That thought comes tinged with the memory of being trapped, humbled, unable to stand, sick as a dog. Pushing back against it, I force the muscles in my ruined abdomen to contract, pulling myself into a sitting position. “Look, Mom, no hands.”
“I’m so proud,” Hannah says flatly.
I force my body up, pushing off the mattress, meeting her on even footing, eye to eye—or at least, that was the intention. My legs give.
Hannah catches me, bracing my body against hers.
