Make Me Beg [BL]

Chapter 26

It was cold in my room. My window was open.

My fingers moved stiffly. I stared at them as they curled down before slowly unfurling. There was resistance.

My eyebrows pinched. What do I do if I can't sculpt one day? If I can't make art anymore? I've been teaching myself to use my left hand more. I only broke two fingers on that hand. But I needed both hands for sculpting.

During times like this, I missed my sister. Or my mom. Not so much my brother, but even he was alright. My dad would listen if I asked him to.

I wanted to talk to my sister about it. Or- No- I didn't want to talk about it but I wanted her to be able to know without me telling her. When I tell her my hands hurt, I wanted her to understand why.

I wanted her to understand the pain and frustration and sadness I mean when I say it.

I wanted to talk about it and forget it all at once. I couldn't forget about it, no matter how much I tried, so talking about it seemed like the next step.

But I talked about it a lot. Penelope had me go over every last detail. There wasn't anything left to say and yet, I wanted to talk about it.

I wanted to tell someone who loves me that it's not fair. Penelope didn't care. At least, not as much as someone close to me. Harrison would care, Mia and Audrey would care.

Kyler would care. He would probably care the most.

Rylan would care. Maybe even just as much as Kyler.

But they didn't know and I didn't want to tell them. How could I tell them something like that? I haven't even told Harrison and I tell him everything. They'll look at me differently whether they believe me or not.

I liked how they looked at me now. I didn't want it to change. I was scared of their soft gazes changing to disgust.

I didn't want to tell them but I wanted to cry and repeat over and over- it's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair. They wouldn't understand but I know they'd comfort me.

I wanted them to understand and comfort me. But I didn't want to tell them. So I longed for my sister instead, someone who would understand and tell me it's okay.

She's done it before. When I first got my splints off and still couldn't move my fingers. I cried silently as I stared at my hands. She dipped her own hand in the clay I couldn't use and told me she'd sculpt for me instead. Just until you can do it yourself, she promised.

She's an awful sculptor.

Still, I kept her indistinguishable blob of nothing.

I didn't think when I grabbed my notebook and tossed it to the floor. It wasn't done in anger nor was in thrown but it still landed with a loud thump. It landed perfectly and I was disappointed to know I'd have to use it again.

I looked away so I didn't have to think about it. My eyes closed.

It was the same images, playing over and over. I felt the original confusion wash over me from that night, the realization that he- they, the four of them were there for me, the pain, the empty feeling as I laid there and stared at the pitch black sky.

It was too bright out, too many lights. There were no visible stars.

I opened my eyes and laughed. Why did I just remember that? I laughed some more. Out of all things to remember, I remembered there were no fucking stars. My chest shook with laughter as my hands came up to cover my eyes. Pathetic.