Page 177 of Beautiful Scars

He moves across my cheek, down my arm. Fingers circle my wrist. Then the other one. My jeans are at my knees but he just lies there, breathing on me.

His breaths become irregular.

He makes a noise that sounds like a laugh, but it’s not.

It’s a sob.

And just like mine, it’s the tears that go in, not those that come out.

He becomes calm. His breathing slows. Urgent, almost frantic hands that were tugging and pinching—he uses them to caress me instead.

But then a young—too young—voice above us demands, “Man? What are you doing?”

My heart stalls as Cole looks up and sees Maddie. His lips curl into a snarl. He launches himself forward, trying to climb and claw his way over me to reach the girl.

The front door creaks open.

I turn and lock eyes with Derek, whose face switches from surprise to disgust in a flash. He surges forward, grabs the back of Cole’s shirt, and hauls him off me. I’m trying to keep back shameful sobs, pulling my clothes back on as Kill rounds the corner.

Putting Cole into a headlock, Derek turns to Kill.

My insides shrivel up as they stare at me, then at the room. Everyone knows what almost happened, but none of us know what to do.

“How is there two of you?”

My heart sinks into my toes at the sound of Maddie’s voice. I guess I wouldn’t have stayed in the room either, not with all the commotion going on just a few yards away.

No one says anything. The moment feels like it drags on and on.

Until Kill narrows his eyes.

My breath hitches in my throat as realization dawns across Kill’s face. As he begins to put the pieces together. All of them. The table covered in white powder. The tears in my eyes. The girl at the top of the stairs who doesn’t even know our names.

I twist my head up. “You go back to the room, honey. I’ll just be two minutes.”

Footsteps patter across the carpet above us and then the door of my bedroom clicks. As I turn back, Kill jabs a syringe in Cole’s arm. A little while later, Cole slumps in Derek’s grip.

“Sarah,” Kill says. “Go see Maddie.”

I don’t wait for him to tell me twice, but I stop before I enter the room, trying to wrestle my arms back into my shirt.

I can’t stop shaking.

My arms won’t work properly.

I slump down against the door while the muted sounds of Sponge Bob comes through.

There’s not a word to describe how this feels. None. Why do they call it heartbreak? Like it’s just broken. Like it’s only shattered. That’s not how this feels. It feels like mine has been torn out of my chest and left downstairs.

And I’m trying my hardest not to go back down there and pick it up.

But he’s always nicer. Once he calms down. When he’s not spiraling out of control.

When he sleeps he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever set eyes on. And he always sleeps this off. And when he wakes up he’s sorry...truly sorry. A broken, vulnerable man who craves reassurance, not violence. He’s always so, so fucking sorry.

I pull myself up from the floor. Wipe my cheeks with the back of my hand. Pull the two halves of my shirt together.

He just needs help. And I know how to help him.