AN/TW: This chapter contains depictions of self-harm.
Robert and I were enjoying the silence and warm summer breeze out on the back deck, until he nudged me gently, prompting me to sit up. I looked up to see my mum and a man, who I'm assuming must be my uncle James.
"Hey kids," mum said, approaching the steps to the deck. "I figured you two would be out here by now. Did you get the cookies made?"
"Yep," I said coldly. I was upset that she didn't mention bringing James over today, I was supposed to meet him tomorrow and I was barely mentally prepared for that as it is.
"Oh, Robert, this is my brother, James," mum said. They were standing closer to us now, and Robert stood up and shook James's hand.
"Well, I'm going to go home now," Robert said, awkwardly. "I'll see you both tomorrow." He turned and looked at me, raising his eyebrows quickly. It was as if he was trying to say "well this is awkward, I hope it goes well" with just his eyes. I figured I would call him later, or he would call me if I didn't.
I sadly watched as Robert walked away, wishing he would have stayed to make this more bearable, but I respected and appreciated that he was trying to give me and my family boundaries.
"Well, let's get this over with," I said, not trying to hide my annoyance. I grabbed my phone and opened the sliding door and went inside the house, stopping in the kitchen.
"Ashley!" My mum scolded.
She and James followed me inside, sitting down at the table. I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms over my chest and staring them down. They did look a lot alike, so there was no mistaking him as my uncle. And boy, Cait looked so much like him.
"What!? You keep this from me, all of this, and expect me to be okay with it? Plus, you didn't even tell me that he was coming over today, and I wasn't even mentally prepared to meet him tomorrow!" I practically yelled. I was angry. So angry.
James cleared his throat, and I can tell he felt awkward, no doubt drowning in the tension between my mother and me, as well as my anger.
"Ashley, I'm sorry for not keeping in touch with your mom and not trying to meet you sooner," he spoke. He had an American accent, like my mum. I rolled my eyes.
"If that was the whole situation, I would have been more or less fine with it eventually," I said, "But it's not. There's also Cait and her mum, who also have feelings, you know, as humans do."
"Yes, I know," James said, looking down. "And whenever they come back after Christmas, we're all going to sit down and have a conversation."
"How do we even know you really are Cait's father?" I said, earning another scornful look from my mum.
"Ashley, she looks enough like him that it can't be coincidental," Mum said, sighing heavily.
"I still think there should be a DNA test. Also, what about Bill, ya know Cait's "dad"? Did nobody think about how he would feel? Or what could possibly happen to Cait's family?"
"I will admit, I did not think of that," James said, looking back up at me. His eyes were watery like he was holding back tears. I rolled my eyes again.
"Of course, you didn't! You know, for adults, you two are both being so... childish," I said, scoffing.
"Ashley, I know this is hard, but you don't have to have such an attitude about it," my mum said.
"Really? That's your concern here? Not how this will affect Cait's whole family? How she's technically our family now? How I've had to keep this from her?" I retorted, trying to keep my voice steady and not break down in front of these two.
"It's okay, we'll figure it out," James said, trying to seem reassuring.
"No, you'll figure it out. This is not my fault nor is it particularly my problem," I said. I was fuming. They are the ones who caused all of this, they should be the adults and fix it, rather than trying to drag us, kids, into it.
"I just wanted to meet you today, that way maybe we could have a normal Christmas as a family tomorrow," James said, his voice sounding sad. "I even got you something for Christmas."
I took a deep breath, before saying, "I appreciate that, and I wasn't expecting a Christmas gift from you, so I didn't get you anything."
"That's okay, I didn't expect anything from you," he said.
I could feel that the mood in the room had changed, and James seemed truly remorseful. My mum did too, but I was still..angry? It's not like any of this affected my life too much, other than now I have an uncle and a cousin, but I was also concerned for Cait and her family. I didn't want it to all fall apart because of James.
"So, what's your plan on how to break this to Cait's family?" I asked.
"I haven't thought that far," James said, "But I know when I see Elaine she'll recognise me. I don't think she suspects that Cait would be mine, so a DNA test will probably be involved. I don't have any idea about how her husband will react, but I know he loves Cait and has raised her as I should have. I don't expect Cait to really accept me as her dad right away, but I hope eventually she could."
"Do you think Bill would react in a way where he decides to divorce Elaine?" I asked, looking at my mum. I knew she would know their relationship dynamic better than James would, and even better than I did, seeing as I didn't really know Bill.
"I honestly don't know, sweetheart," she said, looking at James. "People can be unpredictable. I'm not even sure if Elaine suspects Cait not being Bill's."
"I would hate it if they got a divorce and he just abandoned Cait, seeing as he did all the hard stuff, and you just pitched in during the "creation" process," I said to James.
"Yeah, I know she sees him as her dad, and I'd hate to ruin that," He replied.
"I guess we'll just have to see how it all plays out," Mum said.
She was right, we'll just have to see what happens. I knew this, but the idea of not knowing just what will happen was giving me anxiety. I could feel my chest tighten from my heartbeat quickening and my palms getting sweaty.
I silently turned away, heading towards my room. The sound of my mum and James talking seemed distorted as I made my way up the stairs. I shut the door to my room, tossing my phone on my bed and sitting against the door.
I brought my knees to my chest and tried to slow my breathing. But I couldn't. I thought about calling Robert, but I knew I wouldn't even be able to talk about what was wrong or put it into words that anyone could understand. My breathing sped up, and I could feel the whole effect of an anxiety attack coming.
I hated that I couldn't control what was happening and that I couldn't predict how anyone would react to all of this. I wish I knew how Cait and her parents would react to the news. I wanted so badly to protect Cait from the possible aftermath of what could happen, she was the closest friend I've had other than Robert. I would hate it if her parents got divorced because of all of this. I already hated the fact that I knew about all of this and she didn't.
I laced my fingers together behind my neck, pressing my forehead into my knees. I tried breathing methods and thinking of anything else to calm down, but nothing was working.
My left arm itched, specifically the area where my scars were. It did that when I had anxiety attacks like this, almost like my skin was itching to be cut again. I scratched, my nails leaving red marks down my arm. It felt good, but not good enough.
I started to cry. I had the urge to cut, so badly. But I didn't want to do that to myself, I wanted to stop and get better. I didn't want to be that girl who cut herself whenever things got difficult or when she didn't know how to deal with her emotions.
But at the same time, I didn't know what else I could do or how else to silence the urges. I knew the desire wouldn't go away until I did it. But I didn't want to do it.
I crawled to the bathroom, sitting against the wall opposite the counter. The cool tile felt nice on my legs and seemed to help bring me back into my body for a second.
I looked down at my arm, which was red from scratching it so aggressively. I envisioned the way cutting it would feel, the cool metal of the razor blade against my skin. I scooted closer to the counter, opening one of the drawers and taking the razor I had out.
I could faintly hear my phone vibrating on my bed, and I could tell it was a phone call. I had a feeling it was probably Robert calling me, but I ignored it. Instead, I sat in the bathroom, in a trance-like state, staring at the razor and my arm.
I slowly dragged the blade across my wrist, trying not to go too deep. I wanted to feel it, but I didn't want to make too much of a mess. When I self-harmed, it was never to kill myself. Honestly, I can't pinpoint exactly why I did it. I know it was because I wanted to feel something, but after reading about other people who self-harm and their stories, I speculated that it was a control thing with me. When everything around me seemed so chaotic, I could at least control this one little aspect of my life.
I did it a few more times and watched the blood bead up on my arm. I could hear faint voices downstairs, and I figured my mum and James were still talking.
I stared at my arm. Oh no, I thought, Robert and Mum and everyone else are going to be so disappointed in me.
Tears fell from my eyes and landed on my arm, smearing the blood. I leaned my head back against the wall, taking deep breaths and thinking of how I was going to clean my arm up and wear bracelets or a thicker band on my smartwatch for a few days to cover it.
Suddenly, my door opened. I dropped my razor in surprise and turned to see Robert standing in my doorway.
His eyes swept the room before landing on me.
"Ashley? What are you doing?" He said quietly, closing the door behind him. I reached my left arm out and slide the razor closer to my left leg, so he wouldn't see it. I crossed my arms over my stomach, hiding the fresh cuts on my arm and hugging myself lightly.
"Let's just say meeting my uncle didn't go well," I said, sniffling. "What are you doing here?"
"I tried calling you, but you didn't answer. So I told my mum I left some camera equipment here and that I wanted to make sure I had it packed for releasing Noosa tomorrow. I gave your mum the same excuse when I got here," he explained, walking over to me.
"But what are you really doing here?" I asked, looking up at him as he was now standing over me. He sat down next to me.
"I wanted to check on you since you didn't answer my texts or calls," he said, sitting down.
"I'm fine."
"Ashley, you are sitting on the bathroom floor, and I can tell you have been crying. I highly doubt you are fine."
I hugged myself tighter before explaining to him what happened, and what was said between me and my mum and uncle.
"So then I started having an anxiety attack and I came in here," I said, finishing up my story. "I had just tossed my phone on the bed so I didn't hear any of your texts or calls." I partially lied. I heard my phone vibrating, I didn't want to pick it up and answer it, and I didn't know what I was even going to say to Robert if I did.
"That still doesn't explain what you're doing in the bathroom," he pointed out.
"I wanted to splash my face with cool water to help me calm down," I lied.
Robert looked at me, his eyes staring into mine intently. I had to look away as I felt more tears welling up in my eyes. I think he sensed this, and he pulled me close to him.
He wrapped his arms around me in a sort of side hug. His legs were stretched out in front of him, and he rested his chin on the top of my head. I was turned so my face was against his chest and I had my left arm wrapped around him, gripping the side of his shirt. My right arm squished between his chest and my side.
I cried into his chest, while he gently rubbed my back. His being here was comforting, but it didn't fix what I had done to myself, nor did it make me want to tell him what I did. As a matter of fact, it made me want to tell him less. I didn't want to disappoint him, and I knew it would. I thought that if I just didn't tell him, he wouldn't notice while the cuts healed, and he would think the scars were there this whole time.
"Ashley," Robert said, his voice cracking.
"Hm?" I said, stifling my sobs.
"Why is there a razor on the floor?" He asked, causing my heart to drop.
I was silent.
"Did...Did you...?" He said, not completely finishing his sentence.
I didn't respond. Instead, I gripped the side of his shirt tighter.
"Oh, darlin'," he said, holding me tighter. Instead of the way he called me "darlin'" giving me butterflies, it just made me sadder. I could feel the disappointment in his voice, which made me cry more.
"Shh, it's okay," he said.
He moved so he was sitting cross-legged, and pulled me into his lap. I tried to stop crying, and he gently rocked me back and forth to help calm me down, humming softly as he did.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I...I understand if you want to leave, and be done with me."
"Hey, look at me," he said, leaning away from me. I turned my head to look up at him, and I could see that he had cried a little bit too. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? Trust me, I don't like you hurting yourself, but it's not going to make me leave. Nothing is. I care about you, okay?"
"Okay," I whispered.
"You can cry it out all you want, but then I'm going to help you clean it up. And we're going to get rid of that razor, and what other ones you may have. I don't want to see you do this anymore. I don't want to say you're "ruining" your body, because I still think you're beautiful despite the scars. But you're too good to keep doing this," he said.
I tucked my head back against his chest and cried a little bit more while he continued to hum and rub my back.
Several minutes went by before I finally pulled away from Robert. I used the bottom of my shirt to wipe my eyes.
"Okay, I think I'm done," I said, sniffling.
"Okay. Where did you do it?" He asked, standing up, before helping me stand up as well. I closed the lid of the toilet and sat down on it.
"Just my arm," I said softly. He nodded, before bending down and picking up the razor, setting it on the counter.
He opened the drawers under the sink until he found my extra washcloths, pulling out a dark one so the blood wouldn't stand out on it. He turned on the sink and got it wet.
Crouching down in front of me, he gently wiped my eyes with the washcloth first, before moving to wipe my wrist. He looked so sad doing all of this, but his expression got even sadder when he saw the few cuts on my arm. He carefully wiped away the dried blood.
As he stood back up to toss the washcloth in my hamper, I noticed I got some blood on his shirt.
"Robert," I said, sniffling, "I got blood on your shirt." He looked down at the light streak of blood across his stomach.
"It's alright, it'll wash out. My mum won't think anything of it, I'm always getting banged up," he said, trying to comfort me. I nodded.
"Now," he said, standing in front of me and crossing his arms, "Are there any other razors you have? Or anything else you could hurt yourself with?"
"N-no, just the one," I said, motioning to the one that was on the counter. This was the truth. I only used razors because they cut cleaner, and I only had this one.
"Okay, get up," he directed. I knew he wasn't trying to be mean or bossy, but it was more like he was being stern with me, kind of how you would be with a small child who wasn't listening. I knew he was doing this to help me, so I didn't protest. I stood up.
He opened the toilet lid and tossed the razor in.
"This is it," he said, looking at me. "No more. Next time you feel like doing it, call me. I don't care if you can't explain how you feel or what's going on. I much rather just listen to you cry and ramble incoherently than see you do this to yourself again."
"Okay," I said. He reached and flushed the toilet.
We stood there, watching the razor go down the pipes. It was weird, almost like we were having a funeral for a pet fish or something.
We walked back into my bedroom and I sat on my bed.
"Do you need anything?" Robert asked, standing in the middle of the room. I looked at my nightstand to make sure my water bottle and iPad were there.
"No, that's it. If anything else happens or anything I'll call you," I said softly, pulling my knees up to my chest.
"Please do," he said, stepping closer to kiss me on the forehead. "I'll see you tomorrow, and I'll text you when I get home."
"Okay," I replied.
"Okay," he said back.
He left my room and I could hear him going back downstairs and out the back door. I let out a deep sigh and got comfortable in bed.