Guns and Mirrors

FORTY-FIVE

♕Harley Anderson♕

The bathroom is illuminated by the stars that offer light coming through the window. The wall is cool against my back, seeping through the thin shirt I have on, and my elbows rest on my knees as my hands cradle my head.

The silence that's filled with nothing but the chirping of crickets outside and the occasional car that drives by would be beautiful and peaceful if my mind wasn't waging a war against itself. The razor sits besides my foot, calling my name like a siren and my hand itches to reach out and grab it.
My heart tells me not to do it, not to add another scar to the never ending list. But my head replays my father's words he said all those years ago:

You'll never be enough. You're worthless. Nobody will ever love you. You're just like your whore of a mother.

And then Jee's words are the echo:

Right now you're more of a liability than anything. You will never be a King's members because you're not good enough. You could climb up the ranks without doing anything but being a whore.

I promised myself I wouldn't let Derek's words affect me any longer but... it's like Jee has ripped off a bandaid and rubbed salt into the wound and I can't catch my breath because maybe he's right, he's right, he's right. Maybe I'm not worth it because I killed a man, maybe I'm not worth it because I've hurt Danté by hurting myself.

I vowed I'd never hurt myself. But the girl who made that promise is no longer me. She's dead. She died the same day Frank hit that floor with lifeless eyes.

I reach for the razor. My hands tremble. My heart beats at an unhealthy rate. My lungs can't get enough air. Lifting my left arm up, I press the razor into it, pulling it horizontally. The sharp pain that shoots up my arm distracts me for a second, the reason why I'm doing it blurring. The pain makes me feel alive, it reminds me that I am alive. That I'm still here.

After I draw a second cut, I drop the razor to the floor and lean my head back. The feeling of my blood running down my hand and dripping onto the floor could lull me to sleep.

I sit for a while longer in silence before cleaning up, slipping back into bed and pretending I didn't give another reason to hate myself.

****

This time Danté is in the shower when I wake up, not having left yet. The sound of the shower wakes me up slowly and I roll over onto my side, blinking away the grogginess and disorientation from a night's sleep. I can hear Ramiro making coffee in the kitchen and I stifle a yawn. A few minutes later, the shower has switched off and the door opens. Looking over my shoulder, I get the glorious view of Danté in nothing but a towel that hangs low around his waist, water droplets dripping down from his hair and trailing down his torso.

"Morning." I croak out and Danté offers me a smile. Although, it's a little strained and I frown a little.

"Morning Harley. How'd you sleep?" He asks and I get the sense that there's an underlying reason for his question.

"Fine. You?"

"I slept alright." He replies with his back turned towards me as he rummages through the cupboard for something to wear. After pulling on a pair of boxers and jeans, I can no longer ignore the tense muscles of his back and I crack.

"What's wrong?"

He halts from grabbing a shirt and slowly turns to face me. The look in his face can only be described as heartbroken and I feel my heart skip a beat. Danté doesn't offer a response but his russet brown eyes do trail to my arm and after following his gaze, I see the fresh set.