The Game (That Girl, #2)(23)
The door slams, and he’s gone. I’m left speechless standing in pools of my own blood, frozen by shock and grief. I just hurt Levi the worst possible way I could. I pushed and pulled and dug to find out more on him. I just wanted one piece of the puzzle to understand him a little better, and boy, did I f*ck it all up.
“Jazzy, sit down.”
I watch the blood drain and pool around my feet. It’s dark and dangerous mingling with the shards of glass. Streams of it trail down the front of my thighs to meet the waiting puddles that have already hit the ground. Blood falls like tears. The only difference is tears are salty and meaningless. They never help ease the situation; they only create a mess. Blood falls and leaves stains of pain behind. It’s the color of life with a hue one never forgets. I like seeing blood. It reminds me of the last memory of my dad.
“God dammit, Jazzy, sit down right now.”
I feel a slight tug on my hand, but it doesn’t compare to the pull on my heart. I ruin everything I touch. Ruin it. I knew I shouldn’t have touched Levi.
The pulling on my arm finally wins, and I plop straight down onto the couch next to Lynlee. She’s talking on the phone, and I still hear the glass flying around the room. My eyes don’t see any of it, but the sound is there.
“I don’t know what f*cking happened. He just started throwing shit, Lincoln. There’s glass everywhere. Jazzy is bleeding. He told her to get out.”
Lincoln’s voice resounds on the iPhone. “Are you hurt, Lynlee?”
“No, I’m fine, but there’s blood and glass everywhere. I mean everywhere.”
“Where’s Levi?’
“He left. I think in the main house.”
“I’m going to f*cking kill him.”
Lincoln’s voice roars through the phone. It’s not the sweet caring one. No, the tone in his voice sounds as if he is about to kill someone.
“Stop,” I finally yell. “Just everyone stop. This is my fault. I pushed for information. I went too far. I stood up and walked through the glass. He didn’t hurt me. I hurt him.”
“Girls, stay where you are. I’m sending Tiny over. He’s on a bye week and home for a couple days. Do you hear me? Don’t f*cking leave the guest house.”
“We won’t,” Lynlee stutters.
“And, Jazzy, you listen to me right now. You’re no different than my Lynlee in my eyes. You girls never allow shit like that to happen to you. Ever. It’s unacceptable.”
Lynlee takes the phone off speaker and continues her conversation with Lincoln. I’m unable to focus on any words or thoughts at this moment. My eyes can only focus on the perfect piece of glass lying in front of me on the ground. It’s long and narrow and would fit perfectly in my hand. I raise my shirt and admire all the scars. Some are long, short, and others raised with scar tissue. Then I remember all the blood leaking from them, and the sharp pain it sent through my body, numbing all other sensations, but leaving behind pain. Scorching pain I could feed off, and which would wash away all other feelings, leaving me to revel in the immediate sensation as I watched the blood drain.
I missed my dad, I cut. I regretted giving birth to a stillborn baby, I cut. I missed my best friend who left me behind in hell, I cut. I’d start to cry and see the worthless tears fall, I’d cut. And that pain washed it all away in the moment.
The glass scrapes across my abdomen, and I smile, welcoming the familiar friend back into my life. My fingers grip around the jagged edges of the glass, slicing into my fresh skin, and it’s all too much. I need the pain right now. I need the memories to be washed away forever. Finding my favorite scar, I go right beneath and glide the piece of glass across my skin. The first wave of pain hits and makes me smile, but when it’s not enough, I dig deeper with the glass. I hit the spot that causes me to moan and nearly pass out from the excoriating feeling. This is the type of feeling I like to feel.
“Jazzy.” I hear her voice, but try to cut just a little more.
“I’m sorry.” My hands control all my actions
“What the f*ck are you doing?” she screams in my face.
The pain is beyond numbing, but when I see the tears roll down my best friend’s face, it hurts me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again.
“Why? Why, Jazzy? Oh my god, look at your stomach.”
And I know her eyes are focused on all the marks that cover my skin.
“I need to go home. I’m so sorry.”
“Jazzy,” she screams, “I want to punch your face. Why?”
She’s not only crying now, but sobbing and holding my stomach.
In the distance, I hear the door open, but it really doesn’t matter who could be walking in on this mess. I see Levi and watch as his eyes scan over the mess. I focus in on each dart of his eyes, knowing he’s examining each scar and the fresh one with all the decoration flowing from it.
“What happened?”
“Leave now,” Lynlee screams.
Levi instantly drops to his knees before me.
“Did I do this?”
Lynlee continues to yell at him, but we don’t break eye contact.
“Did I do this?” he asks again.
This time I feel his hands on my face and his breath brushing up against my lips, and the only things I feel are the f*cking worthless tears flowing down my face.