“Let me go!” I yell, my voice cracking.
He’s going to find out and ruin everything. He’s going to break me for the last time. Using my free leg, I kick at him, trying to get him to release my leg, but every hit reminds me of how strong he is.
“Give it up, Kennedy. Let me see what your secret is,” he taunts and flips me over onto my back. Pushing up onto my elbows, I panic and lift my leg to kick him, but he tugs me to the edge of the bed, causing me to fall flat on my back again. Before I can recover, he presses his entire weight down on me. Trapping my body beneath his.
“Sex! I choose sex!” I yell out because anything is better than this.
“It’s too late to choose.”
“Please, Jackson, please…” I beg like I’ve never begged before, my heart jackhammering inside my chest. I’m barely breathing, my lungs refusing to fill with air. Any second now, he’s going to find out. He’s going to see the jagged scars, and everything is going to be over.
My plea reaches his ears, and a look of indifference flicks across his face, but he doesn’t get up. Instead, he moves my hands into one of his own and holds them to my chest while he uses his body to hold me in place. His other hand disappears between our bodies, and then I feel it.
His fingers against my thigh. Touching the scars, tracing them.
I freeze as if I’m stuck in quicksand, and every movement sinks me deeper into the ground. Tears leak from my eyes and down my cheeks. I shiver, knowing the inevitable is going to happen. I can’t stop him. Even if it doesn’t happen today, it’ll happen eventually. What’s the point of fighting him?
Feeling utterly defeated, I go limp in his arms. His eyebrows pinch together in confusion as he lifts his body off of mine and parts my thighs. I close my eyes and breathe through my nose, trying to defuse the panic that’s claiming every cell of my body.
His breathing changes, and I cringe when I feel his gentle touch on my mutilated skin. He’s inspecting them now, the rough edge of his finger traces each line.
“Who did this to you?” the words come out in a rough whisper, and I wonder if he meant to even ask the question. I don’t respond, my throat too tight with fear. Everything is going to fall apart now. He knows… god, he knows.
A heartbeat passes, and another, and then I feel his hand against my cheek. His touch is gentle like a wave caressing the edge of a beach.
“Who did this to you, Kennedy? Who hurt you?” The vulnerability in his voice has my eyes flicking open without right or reason. Through my blurry vision, I look up at him. He looks like a piece of glass hanging on the edge of something. His sharp edges will cut me deeper than any self-inflicted wound if I let them.
“Kennedy. I’m trying really hard not to lose my shit, so tell me who did this to you so I can beat the fuck out of them.” His jaw pops, and I know he isn’t lying. He pulls away, and I shiver at the cold that rushes through me at the loss of contact.
Whiplash, that’s what this is. Just five minutes ago, he was here for sex, to hurt me, and degrade me. Now he suddenly cares? Anger rushes in, flooding my mind, overtaking the panic and fear. Now I’m just furious.
“Does it matter who did it? Would you believe me if I said you did?”
“Me?” He takes a step back like I’ve slapped him. “I didn’t fucking do that to you, and we both know it.”
“You’re right, you didn’t physically do it. Didn’t slice the skin, but you’re part of the reason they’re there.” I pause and look away, feeling ashamed and sick that he now knows how fucked up I really am. “Why do you even care? Why does me being hurt matter to you? It’s never mattered before, so don’t pretend like it does now.” I snap my thighs closed and scurry backward on the bed.
Jackson shakes his head and scrubs a hand down his face. “I’m not going to ask you again, Kennedy. Who did this to you? I don’t give a fuck about anything else right now. Just tell me who did this to you.”
I shake my head, shutting down completely.
“Tell me, or I’m calling your mother and telling her that someone is hurting you.”
“ME!” I snap, “It’s me. I’m hurting myself. I’m the reason there are scars on my thighs, I did it. Are you happy now? You know my secret. Go off and tell everyone. I don’t care anymore.” My heart cracks in my chest, and it’s like every feeling I’ve been holding in pushes through to the surface.
“Y-you?” he chokes on the single word.
I give him a sad smile. “Yeah.”
“Why would you do that? Why would you hurt yourself like that?” He isn’t looking at me with disgust like I expected him to, but the look isn’t necessarily pitying either. In fact, it seems like he’s just seeing me for the first time. Recognizing that our pain is the same. “Why? Just tell me why so I can understand this?”
“Because… I… it just helps me deal.” How am I going to explain this to him in a way he would understand when I don’t really understand it? “I guess when I cut myself, everything in my mind goes silent. For one second, I don’t feel guilty or ashamed.” I look down at my hands, wondering what’s going to happen next. Is he going to laugh in my face? Tell everyone? Now that he knows there isn’t anything I can do to stop him from making me the laughing stock of the entire school.
I can’t hold the tears back any longer and start to silently sob while I wait for him to mock me. My stomach twists and knots, and I feel the itch to cut myself right now to shut everything off.
“You want to do it now, don’t you?” he questions.
I don’t know why I bother replying, it’s none of his business. I don’t have to tell him what I’m thinking or feeling, but I want to. I want someone to know that I’m suffering, just one person. “I do.” I sob, wiping at the tears that keep coming.
My vision is so blurry, I can’t see anything, but I know he’s still there.
“You can leave now. You’ve got what you wanted. Go tell everyone, go make a mockery out of me like I know you want to.” The ache in my chest is intensifying, making it hard for me to breathe, and I gasp for air like I’m being choked.
“I’m not going anywhere. Scoot over and climb under the covers.”
“Why?” I ask as I start doing as he says. I’m so used to doing what he tells me, I simply act and ask questions later.
“Because I want to hold you, that’s why. Now don’t ruin this. Roll over and let me do this.”
“I don’t want your pity.”
“I don’t pity you, Kennedy. In fact, for the first time in forever, I think we actually might have something in common. Now roll over before I make you.”
Doing as he says, I roll over and pull the blanket up to my chest. A moment later, I hear clothes hitting the floor, and then he’s crawling under the blanket and moving toward me. Heat envelopes my body, and when he puts his arm over me and tugs me back into his bare chest, I feel… safe, which is the strangest thing since he’s the last person I should feel safe with.
“What do you mean by we have something in common?”
“I feel the same about fighting in the pit. I like kicking the shit out of someone, but I don’t mind getting my face smashed in either. Physical pain is better than the alternative, isn’t it?”