Betrayal

Chapter 4

TW: SELF HARM

I stare at the blood on my thigh. It trickles, very slowly, until I wipe it away. It stings and I sigh, take a deep breath, and watch more blood take the place of what I've just wiped away.

I was already crying before I came in here to do this. I tell myself I'm weak. How can I let a nightmare lead me to do this? To hurt myself? Why? A nightmare I can't really even remember now. Just bits and pieces of my mother. And I ask myself why it feels good to do this, like I have so many times before.

Release.

It's a release, one of the few I have. I repeat the word in my mind, over and over again, while my blood stains the white tiled floor red. That's when I snap out of it somewhat. I'm quick to clean it up so there's no trace left behind, wash my wound with peroxide, and bandage it. I also clean the razor, one of Dominic's replacement blades that I found after some digging in the vanity drawer, and toss it into the trash. After a second thought I bury it in the bottom.

The pain is throbbing and low, repetitive, yet it makes me feel better than I did before. I sit on the floor and hold my knees to my chest. I'm exhausted. Dominic is asleep not far from me, yet he has no idea I'm out of bed and in here. It's the middle of the night.

I put the boxer briefs back on that I'd worn to bed. They're just big enough so that they cover the bandage and my other scars. He's never seen them. I've made sure of that. We've only had sex at night and if he's felt them or touched them, he hasn't said a word. I'm sure he assumes they're stretch marks or something along those lines.

I force myself to get up and go back into the bedroom. For some time I stand by the door and stare at Dominic as he sleeps so peacefully, then decide I'm thirsty. I'm quiet and careful not to make a sound as I go downstairs and into the kitchen. I could get lost in this house with how vast it is but I manage to find the kitchen, even in the dark. I look the fridge over before deciding on a bottle of water.

I'm hot and my mouth is dry, despite how cool this house is. It's always that way, air conditioned and comfortable. I take slow sips and it soothes the dryness and my throat, I hold the bottle to my forehead and move it back and forth, sighing at the shock of the cold. It feels wonderful.

"Can't sleep again?"

I gasp and jump, nearly drop the bottle of water; and clutch my hand to my chest. It's Warren, standing in one of the entryways to the kitchen, silhouetted in the darkness.

"Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me," I say quickly.

He laughs and when he reaches where I am, he stops.

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to scare you."

"It's okay... Why are you up? Kicked out of bed again?"

"Yes. So I thought I'd come have a drink."

He opens the fridge and I see him now. He's not wearing a shirt. Or pants. He only has on a pair of black boxer briefs. I look away quickly. I'm sure he hadn't expected to see anyone down here, otherwise he would have put some pants or shorts on. I wasn't expecting anyone, either, which is why I'm only wearing the briefs and one of Dominic's flannels.

As he takes a beer out he offers it to me and I shake my head, then grab it. He gets one for himself and goes to the other side of the kitchen, turns on a small light above the oven, and finds a bottle opener. He opens them both and walks away. He doesn't say anything, but I follow him. We go out onto the patio. The pool is lit up, as it always is at night, and I stop and stare at him as he walks to it.

I shouldn't be staring at him the way I am. Examining his body. The muscles on his back, every curve and cut, how tan his skin is, the definition on his thighs and legs, the veins on his arms...