Patient A-3

Chapter 40: Kiss Me

 In the quiet aftermath, our breaths sync. Wrath rolls off of us, his expression unreadable, and a flicker of concern crosses my mind— the fear that he might retreat to his room. Instead, he surprises me with a head pat and a reassuring whisper, "I'll go run us a bath, okay?"

 I nod, wincing slightly as I free myself from Cierien's hold, our bodies sticking together. He doesn't allow much distance, choosing to shift atop of me, his head nestling on my back like a pillow, and his arm securing me beneath him. When the realization hits that there's no sound of water running, a pang of panic sets in.

 The razor.

 "What were you planning on doing with this?" Wrath's voice solidifies what I know to be true— he found them.

 I sit up, a mix of annoyance and shame clouding my expression. It takes a moment for Cierien to identify the item in Wrath's hands, and once he does, a subtle inhale escapes him. His hand extends toward mine, but I swat it away.

 "Brush my hair," I deadpan, rubbing a hand through my sweaty locks.

 "This isn't a fucking joke."

 "Eat it."

 "Avalyn—"

 "The fuck do you think I was going to do with it?" I growl, springing to my feet, making a futile attempt to snatch the blades from his grasp.

 Wrath's fingers close around the blades, his other hand extending to restrain me. "Stop it, Wrath," I snap angrily.

 "Av, baby—" The sorrow in Cierien's voice makes me wince.

 "I didn't use it. For fucks sake, do you see any cuts?" I exclaim, throwing my hands up and spinning in a circle.

 They've had me naked for the past couple of hours; they would have noticed them by now. Hell, they would have probably smelled it, too. The question feels senseless and makes me feel foolish. I should have been more astute and tidied up my mess before heading downstairs. He likely assumes it's because of him. I don't want him to think that, but revealing that I'm struggling to cope with the revelation that my parents are even more despicable than I believed, coupled with the newfound awareness of vampires, sounds absurd. It wasn't just the argument that drew me to think of hurting myself; it was a multitude of things that just kept adding up.

 Yes, I was going to slit my wrists because my parents suck and vampires are real. Oh, and on top of that, I'm just severely mentally ill. That's dramatic. I choose silence.

 "That's not the point, sweetheart."

 "This is embarrassing, please just stop," I plead, my anger giving away to despair.

 It's not that I'm genuinely angry that they found it; it's more of a desperation to halt this conversation. I never wanted them to witness this part of me. They are aware of my mental health issues; I've shared my struggles with mood regulation and anxiety. However, I never explicitly mentioned my battle with self-harm. I thought the scattered scars on my body spoke enough. It wasn't something I felt needed to be discussed.

 "I don't do it anymore. I was having a moment. Please, throw it away," I express, walking past him and into the bathroom, where I promptly switch on the shower.

 His eyes narrow, and he shakes his head, a silent acknowledgment of unspoken thoughts lingering between us. Despite dropping the conversation, it's evident that there's a wealth of words he's withholding. Cierien rises to his feet and follows me, his chest finding the curve of my back as he envelops me in his arms.

 As the water reaches a scorching temperature, I take a deliberate step inside, shrugging him off. Cierien, undeterred, maintains his proximity, pressing his body back against mine. "You know, sometimes, when I was down there," he starts, referring to the basement, "It got too much for my brain to handle. My thoughts would get heavy, and despite all the torture inflicted on other parts of my body, thinking was far more overwhelming. The only way I knew how to deal with it was by hurting myself more; it'd offer a fleeting distraction from everything else."