He pulled me into the kitchen and turned on the lights. I squinted and blinked, wishing I could shield my eyes. The faucet ran with cold water and he washed the blood away.
“There aren’t any cuts on your wrists or arms. You’re lucky, Layna. You could have done some serious damage!”
I watched as he patted me dry and examined my wounds. “Some of these are pretty deep. You might need stitches.”
“No.”
“Layna—”
“No,” I said more firmly.
My hand stilled on the doorknob. I could hear him inside. His voice low. Rumbling through the walls.
He was inside. I wanted to know what he was doing. Who he was talking to.
Scratching. Terrified.
I shouldn’t go in.
I had to.
“Layna, please, let me take you to the hospital.” He wrapped my hand in a towel. The white already turning red.
“No.”
Elian sighed. He looked so tired. Like he hadn’t slept in months. He reeked of cigarettes and exhaustion.
Had I done that to him?
I smiled as he wrapped the towel tighter.
“Do you have bandages at least?”
“In the bathroom. Bottom shelf of the vanity.”
He was gone. Off to get the things he needed to take care of me.
He came back with a box of Band-Aids and antiseptic cream. His shirt stained with the blood of my deception.
I smiled wider.
I watched him as he tended to my cuts. When he was finished, he tossed the towel into the sink and washed his hands. Ridding himself of all traces of me on his skin.
“Why did you do that?” he asked.
“Why did I break the window?” I needed clarification. There were so many different answers to that particular question.
“Yeah.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
His jaw tensed as he looked at me. “You hurt yourself.”
I nodded.
“I don’t understand you.” He was so bewildered.
I wanted to touch him. To absorb him through my fingertips.
“I don’t understand myself.” It was almost a shriek.
Scratching. Groaning. What was that noise?
“Why are you here?”
Elian rubbed at his temple. His hair was too long. It hung in his face. I couldn’t see his dancing green eyes.
“I think I know why you didn’t tell me about your father.”
I waited. I wouldn’t offer anything.
I waited.
“It can’t be easy having that follow you around your entire life.”
I didn’t nod. I didn’t deny. I did nothing.
I waited.
“I freaked out. I know that. Maybe that wasn’t fair to you.”
Not fair to me.
He asked me to wait in the car. Why couldn’t I do as he asked? I always listened. I was his good girl. He loved me best.
He promised he’d find me a star.
Where was it?
I wanted my star.
“I just don’t understand why you have all of…those reminders. Why would you keep anything that had to do with such an awful person?” Elian rubbed his temple harder. His voice shook. He was struggling.
“Why do you keep that? It’s…it’s morbid, Layna.”
“Do you think I’m like him?” I asked. Quiet. Whispered. Barely heard.
Elian stopped rubbing his temple and stared at me. And I could see his eyes. Finally.
“I don’t know. I just don’t know what to think. This is a lot, Layna. Do you know what he did to Amelia—?”
I gently laid my hand over his mouth, pressing down lightly with my fingers.
“If the words hurt. Don’t say them. Don’t give them that power, Elian.”
“What does all that mean? The articles? Why do you keep them? Why in the hell would you want to? Make me understand, Layna. Please.” He was so, so broken.
So, so sad.
How could I explain to him why? How could I split myself open and let him see the ugly, ugly parts of me?
The parts that were slowly eating me alive?
“Please, Layna,” he begged. He pleaded. He was asking for things I wasn’t sure I could ever, ever give him.
“He’s my father, Elian,” I said, as though that would explain anything. Everything.
Elian shook his head, hatred deep and raw flared to life in his dancing green eyes. Hate. Hate.
Loathing.
I shivered. Intense and overwhelming.
I felt it.