I close my eyes and mentally smack myself for my stupidity. Jonah tends to store spare pairs of earphones in the drawers next to both of our beds. He goes through earphones like kids go through Halloween candy; he’s always losing them. I’d forgotten about that when I’d tried to hide the bottles of sleeping pills and anti-anxiety meds I’d procured in New York with Callie last week.
The day after she told me about Kellan and his intensified efforts to refocus his pain, be it with alcohol, sky diving, or the like, I broke down and found a doctor willing to see me on extremely short notice. The way I figured it, a non doctor couldn’t spill the beans on me—not that I think Kate Blackthorn is breaking Shaman-patient confidentiality, but still. I wanted somebody that had nothing to do with Annar. It took this doctor less than five minutes to diagnose me as depressed; it took even less time to write me a script for drugs. I was surprised at the ease of the whole process, but Callie told me later on there are some doctors who, when you wave enough money around (which she actually forced me to take from her), will give you pretty much anything you want. Especially this one, who she’d apparently been seeing for over a year now without her mother knowing.
I finish brushing my teeth and rinse before turning around. I can’t meet his eyes.
“This one I can figure out since it says to take at bedtime when you’re too stressed to sleep. And I can’t say I’m too surprised, as I know you’ve been having some trouble sleeping lately.” He shakes the amber bottle and sets it down. “But this one surprised me.” He picks the second bottle up. “Because, I’m an Emotional, right? And I think I have a pretty good handle on the emotions you let me feel.” He gives me a knowing look that’s filled with far too much hurt. “But I must be the crappiest Emotional in Annar, because these are for acute anxiety, something I haven’t picked up often from you in months.”
Not since I learned how to block it from you, is what I should say. I take the bottle from him and wrap my fingers around the label, like it’ll somehow hide the truth.
He steps closer; when he speaks, his voice nearly breaks me. “Since when do you need Human meds? Especially for emotions?”
I can’t do this anymore. I’m hurting him even now. This—I thought this would help. I thought me getting a handle on my feelings on my own would help. But once again, Chloe Lilywhite manages to hurt those that matter the most.
An awful thought comes to me. What if Jonah finds ways to hurt himself, too? Like his brother?
Pieces of me disintegrate as I reach out and tug up his shirt. His leather belt is well worn but unmarked. But my relief is short-lived, because when he grabs my hand and asks quietly, “What are you looking for?” I notice a crisscross series of pink, freshly picked scabbed lines midway up his forearm.
Is this what he’s doing? Cutting himself? I burst into tears, my control immediately gone.
I’m in his arms, and he’s asking me over and over again, why am I crying? Why won’t I let him in?
I blubber repeatedly how sorry I am until he tells me he’s going to calm me down. I fumble with the lid to my pills, but he knocks them out of my hands. “I’ve got you,” he tells me. “Trust me.”
If only he could trust me.
Later, when I’m calmer, and I know he won’t let it go, I point to the lines on his arm. “Why would you do that, Jonah?” I’m whimpering. It’s so pathetic, but I’m actually whimpering. “I’m not worth it.”
He looks down at his arm, which only moments before had held me close against his heart. “Do what?” And then, before I can say anything, he adds, “And, for the record, whatever you are referring to, you are absolutely worth it. You’re worth everything to me.”
I gingerly touch the pink lines. I can’t look him in the face. I just can’t. How can he be so loving when I’ve done so much damage to him? To his brother? To his family?
“Chloe, love—I’m confused. Are you asking about these scratches?”
Scratches. Right.
“I . . . these are from Emily’s cat. Remember? We were over at Karl and Moira’s on Monday, and Emily’s cat jumped on my lap and then scratched me when I tried to encourage it to jump off?”
Silence from my end. Because, yes, that did happen, but . . .
His words are slow. “Did you think I did this to myself?”
I don’t know. That’s the problem. I have no idea what he does to relieve his stress and pain. And I should. I am the worlds’ worst fiancée.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I’m not Kellan, Chloe.”
Now I look at him. Does he know about Kellan’s belt? He seemed confused when I was checking earlier, so . . .
“Is that what you thought? That I’m like my brother, and I’m finding ways to hurt myself?”
Everything in me screams to tell him the truth, but I can’t. The words won’t come.
He smoothes the hair around my face. “Talk to me, honey. Let me help you.”