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“Blake—” he finally started. But I held up my hand, shaking my head.
“Can we just not talk? At least not right now?” I whispered.
He sighed, but he didn’t say anything more. And the rest of the ride passed in silence.
“I need to use the restroom,” I murmured when we got to the house, not bothering to get a response before I all but ran into the bathroom. Once I had the door closed…and locked, I rummaged through my bag of toiletries, searching for my razor.
I grabbed it and stared at it, self loathing surging through me. I hadn’t let myself do this in weeks. But now it felt necessary. Like I wouldn’t survive if I didn’t release the pain.
Once a cheater always a cheater.
Just like her mother.
Failure.
Whore.
Modeling career in ruins…
I leaned against the wall, and pulled down the waist of my pants, my thumb brushing over the scars on my thigh. Tears were streaming down my cheeks, my hands were shaking....I pressed down the blade and…the door burst open and Ari was there, his eyes wide and face scrunched up with worry.
I froze in place, the razor blade sitting on my skin as we stared at each other.
He walked towards me and stopped a few inches away. Without taking his eyes off me, he slowly slipped off his shirt, throwing it to the ground afterwards.
“Hurt me, sunshine,” he murmured, grabbing my hand that was still holding the razor blade, and pulling it up to his chest. “Every time you feel pain…hurt me instead. Let me take it from you.”
My hand was shaking as he pressed the blade against his chest until a bead of blood pebbled on his golden skin.
I stared at it in shock. And shame. Because I’d felt the slight edge of relief like I’d embedded it into my own skin.
“Carve your name…carve your pain…I don’t care what you do, but hurt me instead,” he whispered as he dragged the blade across his chest. I stared at it, still in shock over what was happening, and I realized that he’d carved out a B.
He was literally carving my pain into his skin. He was carvingme.
I pulled against his hand and he let it go. The razor blade tumbled to the tile floor, the clatter of it echoing around the room.
My legs failed me, and I dropped, caught in Ari’s strong arms before I could hit the ground.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured as I sobbed into his chest. His cut was bleeding, dripping down his beautiful skin and staining my shirt.
And I felt so much pain.
“Why did you do that?” I sobbed. “Why would you make me hurt you like that?”
“Baby,” he groaned, his voice anguished. Ari scooped me into his arms and carried me into the bedroom, somehow kneeing his way across the bed until he was able to sit against it with me cradled against his chest.
“Tell me where it hurts,” he whispered gently, an echo of the words he’d said weeks ago.
And like then, my answer was still the same, only he knew about the demons that made me a villain this time.
“I’m tired of Maura Shepfield being right about the fact that I’m a pathetic excuse for a human. I’m tired of being the villain in my own story. I. AM. TIRED.”
His fingers danced across my cheek and I nuzzled into him. “When are you going to be tired of all the baggage I carry around, and want to leave because I’m the burden you never signed up for, Ari Lancaster?”
His fingers caught my jaw in his strong grip. “Never. The answer is never. Your pain is not a baggage to endure, baby. It’s an honor for me to help you shoulder it. Give it to me. Tell me where it hurts. Let me take it away.”
His gaze never left mine, and the intensity in his eyes was like a lifeline, and I was suddenly desperate.
