Secret Lucidity(59)

He turns in a flash of anger and heads straight toward the bathroom door.

“David, please.” I run to pull him back, but I’m too late.

He opens it and sees the nightmare inside.

“Jesus Christ.” Horror laces his every syllable as he takes in the opened razor and small puddles of blood on the floor.

He bends down and picks up the razor, and I snap, “Don’t touch that.”

But he doesn’t listen to me as he grabs the leather case. I reach from behind him, but he blocks me.

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Give it to me!”

“Why are you doing this to yourself?”

I swing my arm around him again, latching my hand on the corner of the bag, but he jerks it out of my grip.

“Give it back to me!”

“Dammit, Cam,” he barks. “Fucking answer me.”

“It’s my dad’s.”

He digs through it and takes out the razor case.

“You can’t do that, David!”

“Fuck if I can’t.” He sets the bag onto the counter, removes the bloody blade from the razor, and slips it in the case with the rest before tossing the now empty straight razor onto the floor.

“Those are mine,” I cry out, like a child crying out for the security of their favorite blanket.

“Not anymore.”

I throw my palms against him, yelling, “I hate you!”

“If that means no more cutting, then hate me all you want, Cam.”

I pound my hands into his shoulders and chest a few more times until he grabs my wrists and restrains me. “Calm down,” he orders, but I continue to struggle in his hold before finally giving up.

I back away, powerless against him, and watch as he shoves the razor blade case into his back pocket, and I want to cry because I feel like he’s stripping away another piece of my dad.

“When did you do this?”

“Don’t,” I respond fearfully.

He takes another look at the blood on the floor, and his shoulders slump in defeat as he walks over to the toilet and sits on top of the lid. He won’t even look at me when he repeats, “When did you do this?”

“Please, don’t be mad.”

“When?”

With his eyes downcast, I take a hard swallow, and give him the truth after so many lies. “About an hour ago.”

He lets go of a painful breath, and all I can do is stand and watch, wondering how angry he is, how grossed out he is, how much he’s regretting getting mixed up with someone like me.

Time stretches between us, slowly like a death sentence, and I just want to get it over with. So, as much as it kills me, I finally break the silence and steal the words off his tongue. “We can make this easy. I won’t cause you any problems or anything. And I . . . you don’t have to worry about me ever telling anyone about us.”

He remains unmoving as my words linger in the air, and when he finally raises his head, his eyes are red and damp.

“You think I’m ready to walk? That I would give up on you so easily?”

“I wouldn’t fault you.”

“I love you, Cam,” he states without any sign of hesitance.

I lean against the doorjamb and lower myself to the floor before admitting, “I’ve been lying to you though.”

“Yeah, you have.”

I pull my knees to my chest, and when I wrap my arms around my legs, I notice all the dried blood on my fingers. I glance to him and find him looking at it too.

“The lying stops right now.”

“You can’t ask me to make you any promises I can’t keep.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t,” I tell him. “This isn’t something I can just stop, and even if I could, I don’t want to.” My chest aches from the pain I know I’m causing him, but I can’t lie to him anymore. “And I love you. I really do, but if you expect me to stop for you, I can’t. I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.”

He lowers himself to the floor and sits on his knees in front of me. “This scares me.”

He reaches for me, and I brace my hands on the floor when he pushes my legs down and lifts my shirt. I close my eyes and flinch away, too scared to look at him as he examines each and every scar, including the two fresh cuts from today.

“David, stop,” I whimper under my breath.

“Help me understand.” But I can’t. I don’t fully understand it myself. “Don’t tell me not to do anything to help you, because I won’t. I don’t care what you say, I’m not going to stand by and let you do this to yourself. I love you too much.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Then let me help.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, but you need to let me try.”

The thought of giving this up doesn’t sit well with me, but I also know that, with as much as I do love him, he can’t force me to quit. I’ll go out tomorrow and buy new blades, because this is my vice. This is what keeps me safe from my anguish. Without it, I’d die from the pain inside me.

David stands and helps me to my feet. I watch as he grabs a washcloth and wets it under the faucet.

“Where are your Band-Aids?”