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I raise an eyebrow at the question and then shrug. I lift my skirt, showing him the markings. He studies them and when his eyes meet mine, I see pity.
I don’t want your pity; I want the cure.
“You’re a blackout cutter. You see how the cuts start deep and there is an even pattern between them?” He points to the one a little farther away and is slightly to the right. “You see how they get farther to the right and they’re not asdeep? That’s because you zone out. Your mind shuts down and you go blank. Instead of cutting, I want you to take a red marker and draw where you want to hurt yourself instead.”
Sounds like I’m paying you too much. Honestly? That’s not going to work.
“Okay.” I nod, I’m sure my doubt is reflected on my face.
“Are you taking your medicine?” No.
“Yes.” He nods his approval, writing more stuff down. The buzzer dings and my time is up. He walks me out and we say our goodbyes. I make my way to the car, my phone dinging. I look down at it, my heart stopping.
Unknown: Therapy can’t save you. I’m so deep in your mind I vacation there. Do as you're told.
I’m five seconds from smashing my phone into the center console of my beautiful Tesla when another text comes in.
Easton: Where are you?
Jasmine: That’s not really any of your business.
Easton: Answer the question, Snitch.
That nickname always feels like I’m being lashed with a whip. Wincing, I type back.
Jasmine: What do you want?
Easton: As I previously stated, I want to know where you’re at.
Jasmine: On my way home.
Easton: From where?
Sighing, I throw my phone down, starting my car with a push of a button, when my phone chimes again.
Easton: I just want to hang out.
Alarm bells go off as I set my phone back down and begin driving home. What game is he playing? I haven’t been bullied in several days—no snarky comments from him either. And for some twisted reason, my heart sinks thinking he’s finally given up on having anything to do with me at all.
I crave all his attention. Good or bad. I know it’s toxic and I should let it go, but I can’t. Easton and I have a connection. One he won’t admit, and I ignore, but it’s there. I can feel it deep inside me.
Now what do I do about it?
CHAPTER 8
EASTON
I clutch my phone, staring at my screen. I have to hurry this bet up because I’m feeling things. Things I’ve suppressed for a long time. Things I didn’t want to feel.Things that ultimately could be my downfall.
The night of the party several days ago kick-started those things. I don’t hang out with people. I smoke, fuck, and play video games. That’s what I do. Not hang out. Honestly, that was a lame thing to say. I wouldn’t hang out with me either.
Sighing, I toss my phone on my bed and run my hands through my hair. What am I doing? And that is the million-dollar question, because I have no idea. I tuck the joint between my lips, lighting it up and taking a big hit.
This was so much easier when I just ignored her. Fuck, when everyone ignored her. I did this to myself, didn’t I? I just had to send out the picture and put her on everyone’s radar.
Does she think about me like I think about her? Do I eat away her free time and cross her dreams? Does she touch her sweet pussy with my name on her lips? The last thought has my dick growing and I groan as thoughts of Jasmine touching her pussy while she moans my name invade my mind.
A knock on my door brings me out of my daydreams that I didn’t want to leave but should. “Yeah?” I call out as I stub my joint out in my ashtray.
