“Why cutting?”
“I don’t really know. It’s a compulsion; it just felt like that was what I needed. Either cut or float off into some black hell. I felt so disconnected, like my life didn’t belong to me. The pain gave me an anchor. Now, I think it was something my mother couldn’t touch. Then, I just knew it helped. It’s hard to explain.” I shrug. I want him to understand, but I don’t really understand myself, and I don’t like talking about it.
“I get it,” he says.
I look at him, wondering if he’s just being polite, but I see genuine comprehension in his face.
“Sixteen,” he says thoughtfully. “But when I saw you compete at eighteen, there were no scars.”
“My hips,” I say. “I kept all the cuts on my hips at first. Easy enough to hide, even in a pageant dressing room.”
“What changed?” He’s holding my hand, gently stroking my fingers.
“Ashley,” I admit. “When I was eighteen, she committed suicide. Her husband had left her—my mother had been appalled. Said Ashley must have done something to drive him away. I guess Ashley thought so, too, because her suicide note said she was a failure.” I swallow, appreciating the way he’s squeezing my hand in support. “That was the first time I realized how much I hated my mother. But I still didn’t have the courage to tell her to fuck the pageants. So I sliced up my thighs.” My smile is ironic. “That’s a lot harder to hide.”
“Did she get you help?”
“No. First she went on and on about how I screwed up her plans and embarrassed her. Then she told me I was a selfish bitch because I was throwing away all that prize money and scholarships and probably even a husband.”
Damien says nothing, but I can see the burn of temper in his eyes and the tightness across his body. He’s holding in an explosion, and the fact that his wrath is on my behalf gives me the strength to continue.
“She told me I destroyed all her hard work, and she didn’t know why she’d spent years bothering with a ridiculous little fool like me. She said I’d ruined my body and my future. I guess part of me believed her, because even once I was in Austin at school, I still cut.”
He hands me a glass of wine, and I take it gratefully. “I was scared and alone and overwhelmed. But I did see a counselor, and things started to get better and finally I stopped.” I take a sip. “My mother has money,” I admit. “Nothing like you have, but she inherited the family oil business when my grandfather passed away, along with a pretty hefty bank account.” I don’t mention that Mother’s ineptitude drove the company into the ground and she ended up selling it. Now she’s living on what’s in the bank, and the fortune is shrinking every year because she hasn’t got a clue how to manage it and refuses to hire an advisor. That’s one of the reasons I’m determined to learn how to run a business before I actually have a business to run.
“Anyway, Mother cut me off financially after I declared my majors. Science wasn’t what she wanted for her little girl. But that was the best thing for me, because suddenly I didn’t have her looking over my shoulder. I didn’t have to be perfect. I didn’t quit immediately, but it started to get better, and after a while I didn’t need to cut anymore.”
My words have been pouring out of me. It’s more than I’ve ever told anyone. Even Jamie and Ollie only learned the truth in small doses. But it feels good to get it out, even though the price is the growing ferocity I see in his eyes.
Still, I haven’t told him everything.…
He puts our glasses on a table by the bed and moves the tray with the food out of the way. Then he pulls me into his arms, so that my head is resting on his shoulder. Slowly, his fingers trail up and down my arm. “I understand, baby. I promise you, I understand.”
I squeeze my eyes tight. I believe him.
“But what aren’t you telling me?”
I blink at him. “I—how do you know that?”