*possible trigger warning*
~
How I convinced Owen to let me go to Luis' house is beyond me. He's convinced I'm going to try to kill myself again, so trying to leave the house is a big no-no. The only reason he let me go is because I let him track my location through his phone.
I don't blame him. After the stunt I pulled this morning at the bridge, he should be worried about me trying to kill myself again—I probably will. I'd do it today if I didn't actually have somewhere to be.
I walk down the upstairs hallway of Luis' house with silent steps and approach his room with my feet sinking into the fluffy, ivory carpet with each step. I took the courtesy of letting myself in, due to the fact that both of his parents aren't home, and I knew that his deaf ass wasn't going to hear me knocking from upstairs in his room.
I step over to Luis' doorway and push on the cracked-open door to reveal his bedroom. He's standing at his desk and rearranging his stack of vinyls, although when he sees me standing in his doorway, he puts the records down.
"Hey," I state with a sheepish kind of wave.
He looks more tired than usual, with his baggy hazel eyes and tuft of brown fluff sticking up from his normally combed down hair.
His room is actually clean for once, too, which is an unusual sight. From his newly organized vinyls on his desk to the absence of dirty laundry, it's clear that he's taken some time to clean his shit up.
Luis shoots me some kind of awkward smile as he reaches up to rub the back of his neck.
"Hey."
His awkward composure is something that I pick up on, but I try to keep from making things weirder and instead I try to act as normal as possible. My feet bring me over to his neatly made bed and I plop down on his navy blue sheets with a friendly smile.
"You needed to tell me something?"
I watch Luis approach me from his desk, and he takes a seat next to me on his bed. He's not as carefree as I am, though, and he looks tense and uneasy as he stares at his hands.
I will say, from the angle that I'm looking at Luis from, his jawline looks like it could cut glass. You never notice how sharp someone's jawline is until you look at it from up close.
"Are you really cutting yourself?"
His words split through the quiet air and make my grin drop. I sit up in his bed with a heavy sigh, and for a moment I think about lying. I think that maybe, I can save my image and make it all out to be a stupid rumor. But Luis deserves to know, and no matter how badly I want to save my image, I don't want to lie anymore. I'm sick of the games and the manipulation.
"I wish I could lie to you," I begin. Luis turns to look at me in pitiful disbelief. His look makes my heart drop in my chest, and I can see from the pain in his eyes that this hurts him more than I would've thought. He looks like someone's just broken his pure little heart, and I hate that that person had to be me.
I curl my fingers to the edge of my jacket sleeve and pull it up only about an inch, revealing the lines that dot and cross my wrist like an old cutting board.
"Why?" he whispers. He brings his stare up from my wrist and looks into me with glassy eyes. I almost feel like joining him in the crying, just because of how heartbroken he looks.
But I force myself to look away from his intense stare to keep from breaking down, and I wish more than anything that he didn't have to know about it. It would be so much simpler.
My voice is weak and fragile as I feel myself wanting to join Luis in the breakdown, and I know that my eyes moments away from uncontrollable tears.
"I'm just—I'm in a lot of pain, Luis."
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, hoping that he'll understand. I hope that maybe he won't be like Jasper. Maybe he won't leave me.
"Because of Jasper?" Luis presses, a sudden anger lighting up inside of him. "If that's the case, I can go beat the shit out of him. What he said about you and what he did to you is wrong."
I open my damp eyes again and look at Luis in agreement, but I lay my hand on his shoulder to calm him.
"I know. But I don't want you to fight him. I'm tired of fighting."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I lean towards him in a moment of neediness and put my head on his shoulder. I've been so tired lately, and so fed up with the drama. The lies, the pain, and the secrets. It hurts so badly, but if I can just sit here with Luis, maybe it doesn't have to hurt as badly.
I'm surprised to feel him wrap his arms around me, but I don't stop him. He lets me feel safe and secure for the first time in a while, and I need that as I prepare to tell him something that I've never actually admitted to him out loud.
I stare in front of me at Luis' wooden dresser as I take a deep breath and sink further into his hold.
"You know how I've been thrown around into different foster homes, right? I've told you about that before."
He rests his chin on top of my head, and I feel him nod as he holds my body even closer to his.
"But I never told you about my parents," I start with a shaky breath. "They were high for most of my childhood, and I—I had to take care of Mason like he was my own son."
The room around us is silent in the absence of my words, and I can tell that Luis is patiently waiting for me to find the courage to finish. And I know that I can trust Luis. I have to, if I want to give him the answers he deserves.
"And even after we entered the system," I continue. "It never got much better. I had to keep fighting to keep Mason safe. I'm just tired of fighting everyone."
The absence of tension is a surprise to me, considering there was so much with Jasper. But Luis just takes a deep breath and lets me lay my head on his shoulder.
I feel myself wanting to bury myself in every inch of him. I want to feel his warmth and breathe in his scent until I can no longer breathe. I want to feel his arms around me until he can no longer hold me.
Although he can't take away my pain, his presence seems to be numbing the hurt I'd normally feel. And that's something I want to hold onto, considering there aren't many things that can do that nowadays, besides my blade.
"What about the home you're in now?" Luis questions. "I thought you liked that Owen guy?"
"I mean, I do, but I don't wanna get attached. I'm just gonna move to a different foster home eventually."
I pull away from Luis and force myself to create distance between us. After all, when I do end up killing myself, I want it to hurt him as little as possible.
"Is there anything else you need to talk to me about?" I ask, changing the subject.
Luis nods and turns to me, one of his hands falling onto mine.
"There is one more thing."
He looks down ominously, his eyes turning sad and regretful. It takes several moments before he speaks again, his voice held back and unsure, but I can feel my stomach drop as his tone turns serious and pained.
"I hate to tell you this," he admits. "But I—I might be moving."
I breathe a sigh of relief at the news. I thought he was going to tell me he had cancer or something, but this I can deal with.
"What part of town are you moving to?" I ask as I lean back on his bed.
He shakes his head and refuses to make eye contact with me, and instead he just stares down at his carpet.
"Colorado."
I sit up in his bed faster than he got Mary pregnant and bring my eyebrows together. I allow myself time to process his words as the shock finally hits me.
"Colorado? Like, the state?"
He nods. "I mean, I don't know if we're actually moving, but my dad has a job offer. If he takes it... we'll be gone by May."
"Really?" I plead as my heart drops into my chest. "You don't even get to finish the school year?"
Luis shakes his head, moving towards me again. I don't lean away or make any move to stop him from getting closer—if anything, I move towards him.
"And I have something I need to say to you," he begins. "Because I might be moving, I need to get this off my chest."
The closer he moves to me, the more I feel something spark inside of me. The way his eyes stare at me makes my heart beat harder and faster than it ever has with Jasper, and I get the same giddy feeling that I always used to get around Jasper, except this time, it feels genuine. It feels like it's not one-sided, and this time I know that the other person isn't an asshole.
My eyes move up and down his face, observing every flawless trait and imperfection. From the glow of his caramel skin to the fluff of his brown hair, I can feel my mind become captivated by the smell of his perfume and the feeling of his arms as they fall around my waist.
He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face, his hand resting on my cheek—a gesture that makes my head spin and my heart race.
"I didn't come out as bisexual for Mary."
I glance down at his lips, knowing what he's intending to do and not at all hating the thought of it.
"You didn't?" I ask softly.
He shakes his head, leaning forward slowly and gingerly placing his lips on mine. I resist at first, although I can't help but kiss him back.
His lips are sweet and they fit perfectly with mine, and they send an icy chill down my back at the feeling of his foreign touch.
As my mind wraps itself around the fact that my best friend is kissing me, my body accepts his passion with hasteful urgency. I let him lean forward and push my body back against the headboard of his bed, and with my body pressed between him and his pillows, he lets his lips wander to other places.
He plants delicate kisses along the line of my neck; they're sweet, slow, and they leave my skin with traces of goosebumps as his minty breath blows over the kisses.
I feel his lips lift slowly from my skin and his eyes raise back to mine. There's even a hint of a smile on his face, and through our intense gaze I can only think of one plausible question.
"W—what?" I murmur.
My uncertainty makes Luis let out a laugh, and he sits back on his bed while biting his lip.
"So friendship's out of the question," he remarks with a half-smirk.
The cheesy look on his face makes me laugh, and my mouth turns upwards into a large, shy grin as he chuckles along with me.
"Is it bad that I'm okay with it?"
"Nah," he dismisses with his pearly whites on full display. "I am too."
There's a long pause between Luis and I, and I find myself staring at him with this stupid smile that I can't erase no matter how hard I try.
And I've never been the giddy type, but the moment I see him leaning back towards me, my heart surges with excitement and desire to do everything we've just done all over again. Our kisses felt like everything I'd been missing before with Jasper.
His lips fall back onto mine, gentle and soft like they were before as his tongue slips between my lips. His hands roam around me in a sensitive way, one that keeps from suggesting something steamy but also keeps our bodies pressed together.
I have to pull away to allow myself to breathe and to ask an urgent question that's been racking my brain for the last few moments.
"So Jasper was right," I inquire once Luis has pulled away. "You are trying to get in my pants?"
Luis clenches his jaw at the mention of Jasper, but he shakes it off with a little chuckle and shakes his head.
"I don't wanna fuck you, okay? But I do wanna kiss the hell out of you."
I can't help but return his chuckle, and I tug on the collar of his shirt to bring his beautiful face back towards me.
"Be my guest, babe."
And as his lips begin to graze the skin on my neck once again, I feel a spark ignite that I've been missing for what feels like years. A spark of desire, happiness, and intimacy that reminds me that I still have this moment to enjoy, even through my painful last few days on this atrocious Earth.
~
When I return home from Luis' house, I feel a strange surge of happiness course through me. Just thinking about Luis gives me butterflies and makes my heart swell up in my chest until it feels as though it's going to burst through my skin.
However, I know whatever dopamine high my brain is on right now won't last for long, because my mind will soon forget about how it felt to kiss Luis, and my thoughts will be consumed with my familiar demons that will and urge me to do something evil and unspeakable. Something that seems harder to do, now that Luis has revealed his feelings towards me.
I open the door to Owen's house and step inside into the warmth of his foyer. His house is warm and toasty against the chilly spring air, and I glance over at the dining room table to see Owen sitting there working on his laptop.
I slip off my shoes and look over at precious little Mason, who's napping peacefully on the couch, and feel an adoring smile creep onto my face.
"Hi," Owen says while he glances up from his computer.
"Hey," I beam, pulling off my black jacket. "How's Mason feeling?"
Owen looks behind him at the little blonde-haired angel resting in the living room.
"He's still feeling sick. He doesn't have a fever, though."
"That's weird," I note as I approach the dining table.
Owen looks up at me for a few seconds before he turns his attention back down to his computer. He doesn't continue with typing, though, and instead he just runs his hand over the surface of the shiny wooden table.
"By the way," he adds before he reaches up and closes the top of his laptop. "I called a psychologist earlier and made an appointment for you next week Thursday."
I feel the happiness inside of me squander at his words, and I no longer want to converse with him if that's what he wants to talk about.
"Do I have to go?"
"Yes."
I cross my arms across my chest and sigh. If Owen wants to bring me to talk to some old fucker, that's fine. But he can't make me do anything, and he can't force me to talk.
"I don't wanna go."
"You should've thought about that before you tried to jump off of a bridge."
"Oh?" I exasperate with eyebrow raised. "So you're punishing me for being sad?"
"This is not a punishment. I'm doing everything I can to help you."
I shake my head and look over at my sleeping brother, whose angelic face is the only thing keeping me from losing my temper on Owen.
If he really thinks sending me to a shrink will help, he's dead wrong. Some old guy isn't going to be able to convince me that life is worth living.
"Well, I'm fine now," I lie. "The psychologist isn't necessary."
"Why should I believe that?" Owen questions with an insistent tone.
He's looking at me like he's trying to stare into my soul, and the seriousness of his scolding makes me want to shrink away into a corner and scream. To maybe make him understand that he's not helping.
"You've been closed off and angry since I first met you, Ramona. And because you refuse to talk to me, you're going to have to talk to the psychologist. It'll help you more than you think."
"And if it doesn't?"
Owen sighs and leans back in his chair. "Then we can talk about medication or other treatment options."
I swallow forcefully at the thought of actually having to let someone in on my darkest thoughts and secrets. The thought of someone, especially Owen, finding out about my cutting makes me feel nauseous and puts butterflies in my stomach.
Except these aren't the giddy type of butterflies I feel when I'm around Luis—these fuckers are wasps, and they sting.
"Fine," I breathe, not having the energy to fight it anymore. "Can I at least miss school tomorrow?"
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to go."
He raises an eyebrow, noticing the desperation in my voice. "Is there something going on at school?"
"No."
He pauses and raises an eyebrow at me, as if he can see straight through my lie. His eyes feel like lasers piercing right through me, and I raise my arms to my chest in uncertainty.
"Are you sure about that?"
I glance around Owen's house—at his kitchen, his living room, his back door. Anywhere but his eyes, because I can't look into them without feeling disgustingly vulnerable.
"I—I don't want to talk about it."
"I think we do need to talk about it."
My gaze snaps down to him as I realize what he's implying, and I feel my stomach drop into my intestines as my entire body turns into a jello, noodle-like mush.
He can't know what's been going on. The last thing I need is him knowing what I do to myself, but the way that the look in his eyes changes tells me one thing for certain:
He knows.
I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping he doesn't actually know and that I'm just freaking myself out. I mean, how could he know?
"You should sit down, Ramona."
He gestures to the seat across from him, although I'm too frozen to move. I hate the way he's looking at me, and I hate the guilty look I know I have in my eyes. But his voice says it all.
He fucking knows.
"Please, sit down."
Although my mind screams in resistance and panic, I feel myself comply with his direction and I forcing my body to move just enough to sit in the chair.
I can't help but remember the first night I ever stepped foot into his house—I had been so awkward and so angry. Now, here I am, sitting in the same chair that I was sitting in nearly two months ago, although this time the conversation is nowhere near the small talk that Owen was making when I came over for dinner.
"Your school counselor called me today. A student came into her office and said something worrying about you."
I bite my lip and fidget with my nails, hoping to distract myself from the discomfort of the conversation and the stinging in my eyes.
Please don't say what I think you're going to say.
"They said—they said you were cutting yourself."
He lets his words hang in the air and he watches me carefully to see how they're going to affect me. I try my hardest not to react, but it's hard not to panic as he stares at me and tries to get a one-way ticket into my mind.
"Is that true?" he asks softly, leaning towards me.
"No."
I keep my eyes on my hands in fear of him seeing through my lies. He has to believe me. He can't know.
"Are you lying?"
"Why do you always assume I'm lying?" I snap, finally looking up at him. I have to use the only thing I have left to defend my image—my steel-toed, hard-knuckled, spitfire attitude.
"Because I can tell. You're a terrible liar."
"Am not."
"Okay, not my point. I'm going to ask you again, are you cutting yourself?"
"No," I state while being sure to make my voice firm and cold.
"Prove it. Because frankly, I don't believe you."
My eyes become moist and begin to sting as my heart thumps violently against my ribcage. I can't take being in the same room as him right now. It's crushing me, having to look into his eyes as his gaze burns holes through me and all of my lies.
"Show me your wrist," he demands.
I know he doesn't understand it. He doesn't understand how hurtful it is to force someone to show their scars. Especially when they're not ready.
I'm trying to remind myself that he's trying to help me, but it hurts so bad. The look of betrayal and hurt in his eyes hurts too much. The way he's forcing me to show my scars hurts so fucking bad.
Ironically, the voices in my mind are telling me to go cut again, because all I ever do is disappoint the ones I love. I hurt Owen, I hurt Nadia, I hurt Luis, and I don't deserve to be alive.
This never ends. This pain never ends.
As if on cue, Mason sits up and saves me from having to answer Owen.
"Owen," Mason calls weakly, his voice hoarse and scratchy.
Owen turns around in his chair, his face changing immediately from his stern stare as he gives Mason a warm smile.
"Oh, hey, peanut. You feeling better yet?"
"I feel worse," he whines with a shake of his head.
Owen's eyebrows draw together in a moment of worry, and he stands up from the table to check on Mason. I follow, wanting to make sure Mason is okay and thankful for the diversion from mine and Owen's conversation.
"What hurts?" Owen asks while leaning down on one knee to match Mason's height.
Mason looks between both of us and coughs, sitting up on the couch.
"My—My chest."
I watch as Owen's face drops. His caring and smiling expression falls off of his face as though he's been slapped across the face.
It's only now that I notice Mason's odd breathing. It's like he's struggling to get a good amount of air into his lungs, and he's got some kind of mucus stuck in his throat.
"Okay, wait here," Owen says as he tries his best to remain calm, despite the fact that I can clearly hear the uncertainty in his voice. He immediately stands up and disappears down the hallway and leaves me to comfort Mason.
"I'm sure everything's fine," I reassure my innocent little brother, although I'm not entirely confident myself. After all, chest pain can't be a good thing.
Owen returns a moment later, a black bag in his hand. I recognize that bag, as it's the same bag he takes with him when he goes to the hospital for work. He places the bag next to him and kneels down again, pulling out a white stethoscope.
"I'm going to listen to your heart, okay?"
Mason nods and lets Owen place the stethoscope on his chest, the room falling silent as we watch Owen listen to his heartbeat.
I feel my breath catch in my throat as I watch Owen's face turn into something I've never seen before—fear.
"Ramona," he starts calmly while dropping his stethoscope back into his work bag. "I want you to go grab Mason's shoes, and put yours on, too."
Mason coughs again while still breathing unevenly.
"Where are we going?" he croaks out.
"I want you to stay calm, Mason, but I think we should go to the hospital, okay?"
I can feel the color drain from my face at the mention of the hospital. If Owen, who is (technically) a heart surgeon himself, is worried enough to bring Mason to the hospital, something must be wrong.
Oh god, please let my baby be okay. I can't lose my light.
"Go get his shoes."
I look up at Owen and nod, not daring to waste a moment as I hurry over to put on my shoes and grab Mason's. I help Mason slip his shoes on, my hands shaky and my mind flustered with the image of Owen's fearful face and the different possibilities of what could be wrong with my brother.
And the scariest thing of all is the thought of losing him, because the day I lose Mason is the day that my world falls apart.
-
A/N
Alright sisters, eight(ish) chapters left!
teaser: You won't like me after next chapter. Oops :):
okay goodnight y'all it's late up here in wisco. also where are you guys from because I'm living up in dairyland (Wisconsin) and i wonder who's reading from where, like??
okay actually gn now
-N. M.