“Ar—”
“No.” She shuffled back from me and lifted herself up, testing her weight on her leg. She hobbled for a couple of steps but managed to stay upright. “You didn’t see anything.”
My mind was swirling with thoughts. Thoughts I couldn’t get under control. Maybe my eyes had deceived me? Maybe they weren’t what I automatically thought they were.
But as I stared up at her, my face level with her hips, I knew my first instinct had been right. Those weren’t any kind of scars. Those were self-harming scars, and if the scab was anything to go by, she’d cut herself a few days ago.
How had I not known? How had I been back for a couple of months and not noticed the signs? Did she do it often? Was she…trying to kill herself?
My breath caught in my throat, and I looked up at her. Tears streamed down her face as she stared down at me, so much pain in one look it was almost too much to bear.
“Baby,” I croaked out. “What are you doing to yourself?”
She shook her head and swiped her arm over her face. “I…” She moved back a step just as the bell rang out, but I didn’t take my eyes off her. Not when she turned, and not when she hobbled all the way back to the building. I tried to put all the pieces together, but they wouldn’t fit. This wasn’t the Aria I knew. This wasn’t the same happy-go-lucky girl who used to bug the shit out of me.
This was a new Aria, one who was riddled with darkness.
Chapter Nine
ARIA
My heart beat wildly in my chest. The thrumming of my pulse echoed in my ears. But I didn’t look away from my inner thighs. Only a couple of scars marked the tender skin. Two on the left and one on the right. I was trying to even them out, at least, that was what I was telling myself anyway.
The truth was I was starting to crave the pain that accompanied the slice of the sharp blade. I needed to stare at the blood as it trickled out of a cut I’d made. I needed the high it gave me.
I inhaled a deep breath and placed the razor against my thigh, pressing down just enough to cause a pinching sensation. I was only seconds away from breaking the skin, able to bask in the euphoria it would give me, and then I’d feel better than I had since the last time I did it.
&n
bsp; “Aria? I’m heading to the—” The bathroom door flung open and my head whipped up.
“Mom!” I wasn’t fast enough to conceal what I was doing, and I knew as soon as her gaze lowered down to my shaking hand curled around the blade that she saw what I was doing.
“What…I…” Her sad eyes met mine, her brows lowering as she stepped fully inside the compact bathroom. “What are you doing?”
“I…” I bit down on my bottom lip, preparing to lie, but…I couldn’t. Part of me wondered if I’d started doing this to gain her attention, but deep down, I knew it was way more than that. I needed the pain to center myself.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” I stood on shaky legs and let the razor drop from my hand and into the sink. The clang of the metal hitting the porcelain rang out around us. “I won’t do it again.” I clasped my hands together in front of me. “I…I promise.”
Mom was perfectly still, the only movement her throat bobbing as she swallowed. I braced myself for the impact that was sure to come. She wouldn’t let this slip by, especially not after what happened with—
“Okay,” she whispered and stepped back. “You promise?”
I nodded. She was moving farther away, fleeing from the truth showcased in front of her. “I’m…” She cleared her throat and shook her head. “I’m heading to the store; do you need anything?”
“No,” I croaked out, staring at her as she bobbed her head several times and then spun around. Her footsteps echoed down the hallway as she walked away. The sound of the apartment door closing had my body jarring, and I flicked my gaze down to the sink and to the razor.
Maybe I’d do it one last time. Just once, and then I could stop, right?
Five—was the number of years it had been since I made the first cut.
One—was the number of people who knew what I’d done to my body.
Three—was the years it had been since my mom thought I’d stopped.
I’d been keeping a secret from everyone. No one would understand why I needed to do it. They didn’t understand it wasn’t about anything but feeling the relief and—for one second—not being me.
I was a pro at making myself look put together. I could fool the one person who knew me better than anyone. Sure, Mom still had concerns, but she had no idea what I did when I shut my bedroom door. It wasn’t like she was home most of the time anyway. She was too busy working double shifts and looking over the plans to the new diner. She didn’t see it because she wasn’t looking. She ignored the signs, and that was more than okay with me.