If I wasn’t honest, I’d lose him anyway.
When he found out the truth about what I hid from him, he’d walk away.
“He isn’t one for touching—or emotions—anymore,” Stony explained. “But I can tell that if anyone hurt you, he’d kill them and pay for the mess to go away.”
I nodded, wiping the tears I didn’t realize had spilled over.
“Don’t hurt him, okay?”
“That's what I’m afraid of,” I admitted, feeling helpless. I didn’t want to hurt him, but because of my choices, I knew there wasn’t a way out of that. I’d be breaking his heart because I lied from the start.
That alone made me want to stab myself and end all of our suffering. Stony didn’t touch me as he got up, and I noticed the way his hand flexed, like he wanted to offer a pat or squeeze of encouragement but didn’t. I missed comfort. Between Madden not offering it and his affinity for not letting others touch me, I felt starved and emotionally spent.
Madden didn’t come to me, his eyes watched me, though. So many questions written on his face.
Chapter Forty-Six
Enemy – The Plot in You
Madden
Whatever she hid made my skin crawl. Whether it was intentional or not, I couldn’t stand the thought of lying, especially from her.
Texting Cars to calm me down, I watched Andy and Al talk in hushed tones.
Have you spoken with Andy?
Not since you guys were in London. Like day four, I think?
The memory of Candy hit me. She sat in the very back of the plane, past the rooms we all had. She wasn’t allowed near me or Andy, and since then she didn’t have a complaint.
Maybe that was what had Andy twisted. It was easy to tell she was emotional, that something bothered her, ate her alive, but not once did she bring it up with me.
Did she say anything?
Only that your manager was a raging bitch.
That’s true.
So, she did in fact have her removed from the show? Wow. What a cunt.
Exactly my thoughts.
Tell me what’s up?
She keeps crying, but making sure it’s when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
I could imagine his face as he stewed over that information. Out of the two of us, Cars knew more about humanity, being emotionally available, and being a stable friend.
Unlike me.
My phone vibrated as he called. It was illegal to take phone calls or texts on a plane, but since I never got caught, I didn’t care much. Picking it up, I walked out of the main area. Andy was now alone and Stony made it back to the others. I walked toward my room, wanting space.
“Hey,” I answered.
“What kind of hiding? Like she’s seeking comfort in others or is generally hiding her sadness?”
“The second”, I bit out, thinking of how Stony tried offering her an olive branch and she shrugged it off.
“Then she’s hiding something from you specifically, but also something she doesn’t want them to know.”
“Like what?” I hissed, feeling unease. It wasn’t news that I took absolutely nothing well. I used to, but being sober and paranoid didn’t mix and it definitely didn’t help that Andy tried to act fine around me.
“Pregnant?” His voice hit my ears, the curiosity in his tone made me burn. No, she couldn’t be, even if I wanted her to carry my baby. We’ve only been fucking for a week... suddenly hatred beyond explanation hit me and I wanted to stab Brandon more times than humanly possible.
She couldn’t be pregnant with his baby. Fuck. No. It was what I wanted to do to her, fill her with my seed until she bore my child. I wanted that. The thought and knowledge that I gave a child to her.
“You okay, Mads? I can almost hear the steam leaving your head...”
“Fine,” I bit out, my teeth grinding so hard they were bound to chip. I sucked in a hollow breath, trying to calm myself. Secrets killed relationships. But secrets between Andy and me? It killed me, it made me deranged.
“You aren’t going to do something stupid, right?”
“On a plane, no.”
“After landing?”
“I have the right team to clean up a murder scene,” I growled.
“Mads, don’t freak out, it was only a guess. She’s probably just stressed about being back in Brightmore.” That made me pause. Maybe it was something that simple. But what would make her feel that uneasy?
Then I thought of the text from Donnie, settling a bit more.
“I think I know what’s wrong.”
“And?”
“Donnie, the fuck.” He made a hmm sound, then I hung up after saying bye. Leaving my room, I headed for the front, not seeing Andy at first glance.
“Where is she?” I questioned the room.
“Bathroom, maybe?” Stony guessed. Carrig and Memphis seemed gone with the fucking wind, their eyes bloodshot. The fact that I hadn’t smoked in over a day wasn’t lost on me.
It wasn’t easy holding back cravings, let alone holding back anything that had made me feel a little bit calmer. Yet, here I was, holding back for the sake of Andy. I knew my drug habit upset her, making her uneasy. It didn’t help that I didn’t know how to fucking stop.
I took and took until I couldn’t function, slowly killing myself as the drugs hit me. Now, when I was sober, I needed something else.
Rushing back to my room, I went to the bathroom, grabbing my blade. Something about making myself bleed when I couldn’t ink myself up was comforting. I was sure no one would agree with me. I self-harmed for reasons unknown but I seemed to struggle most when I didn’t.
Taking out my stiletto blade, I flicked it open, waiting for the comfort the snick usually brought me. Not tonight, it seemed. It didn’t offer any solace, but it did taunt me, telling me to just do it.
Doing anything else would be a pussy’s way out.
And that wasn’t me.
I allowed the pain. It was easier to feel physical over emotional any day.
The metal touched my skin, cold and barren of the warmth the plane felt. I usually loved that feeling. The way it comforted the heated thoughts and anger, but now, it just reminded me how angry I was.
I pressed down, feeling the first tight squeeze. People thought simply pressing down on your skin immediately cut you. It could, but with most knives, they weren’t as sharp as when they were first used.
I loved that, needing to apply pressure and actively choose to slice my skin. I didn’t sharpen my blade every time I cut, forcing me to push harder.
Like now, even with the weight into it, it still needed an active movement to create blood. Chaos. It created that bubbling psychosis in me.
Sliding harshly, I went slow. When you went fast, the burn only lasted for a pinch. When you went slowly, though, you felt every bite of the blade as it separated the skin.
Drawing downward, I finally finished a line. Before stopping, blood bubbled. Dark, crimson, the beast being fed momentarily.
Besides not wanting touch, I didn’t want emotional pain. Somehow, cutting gave me everything I wanted and despised all at once.
Would she hate me for this?
Putting a blade to my already bumpy skin...
One of the biggest reasons I avoided her touch was because I couldn’t stand the thought of her feeling what my ink hid. Couldn’t stand the itch of her skin if my body wasn’t ready.