Page 35 of Guitars and Cages

“I don’t wanna talk about why they’re there.”

“Too bad. I ain’t gonna stand back and watch you hurt yourself.”

“Who invited you to watch?”

“One more smart-assed comment and you’re gonna find yourself in the hospital on suicide watch; is that what you want?”

“Ain’t trying to kill myself.”

“So you said.”

“It’s true.”

“This says otherwise,” Morgan said as he yanked my arm up so we both could see.

“That says nothing,” I told him. “I needed to feel something, so I cut. It worked. I stopped.”

“Until next time,” he said, running a finger along the cuts and scars.

I shivered and tried to yank my arm away, but Morgan held firm. We glared at one another until I broke away and looked down, letting my hair slide over my eyes.

“Let me help you,” Morgan pleaded.

“No one can help me,” I said despondently. “I fucked up and there’s no way to fix it. It’s all my fault.”

“What’s all your fault?”

I said nothing. I clenched the sheets in my hands and my shoulders trembled. Morgan slid a hand beneath my chin to raise my eyes to meet his, only to see tears sliding down my cheeks. I hadn’t even let myself cry when Chase had died, and here I was crying now.

“Talk to me,” Morgan urged.

“Won’t change anything.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Nothing can fix this,” I told him, yanking away and curling back up into a ball. “Go away.”

“I can’t, not until you get up and can take care of Rory.”

“Take him with you.”

“Can’t do that, either. Kimber didn’t give him to me, she gave him to you.”

“So I’m giving him to you.”

“Doesn’t work that way.”

“Dammit, Morgan,” I yelled, sitting up to find him watching me intently, concern in those stormy blue-gray eyes. In that instant, I wanted to tell him everything: about Kimber, and how I’d set out to seduce her only to be shot down and run away the first time. About Gage, and how badly I’d betrayed him; about Chase, and how I should have stopped him from driving that car. There was a trail of destruction left on the roads behind me and that was hard as hell to live with day after day.

I wanted to tell Morgan everything about the first year after I’d run; the shame I still felt about the things I’d done to survive, the confusion and disgust, the rage and the hate. I wanted to tell him that I cut to try and erase who I’d become so I could find the person underneath, the person I was meant to be. Instead I said nothing, just looked down at my hands, and then I lunged, grabbing Morgan and pulling him into a kiss. I could feel Morgan’s surprise before he shoved me away.

“What the hell was that?”

I gulped and bit my tongue, eyes on the bed. I could feel my face getting hotter, no doubt turning red as tears welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t believe I’d fucking done that. I bolted, nearly falling from the bed in my haste. I fled the apartment, ignoring Morgan’s yells to come back. Ashamed, I cursed myself for a fool and ran until it was a struggle to breathe. What did breathing matter anyway, now Morgan knew I was as twisted and messed up as my brother? Only after what I’d done there was no way Morgan would ever consider forgiving me.

I was gasping for breath and dizzy as hell when I ran into the alley. The brick blurred through the tears in my eyes as I punched it and felt the white-hot slash of pain up my arm before I clutched my fist to my chest and sank down against the wall. Hot tears spilled from my eyes as I slammed my head back into the wall, trying to bash out the memory of what I’d just done. The pain was sharp; the cold dread in the pit of my stomach was sharper, bringing the knowledge that once again I was gonna have to run. I slammed my head against the wall again. I knew there was blood flowing and leaned forward, intending to do it again. Someone grabbed me, hands on my shoulders yanking me away from the wall, yelling words I couldn’t fully hear.

“Asher, hey, what the fuck, stop that!”

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