My eyes move along his bruised cheek, passing his full lips. They meander down to his chin where his scars crawl up from his strong jawline. The dark red shadows of the healed wounds spread down to his neck disappearing into the start of his hoodie. I slowly move back up, pausing again at his chin, then continue on to his hooded eyes.
“Ya like that?” He gives his chin a slight jar as a small smile tilts up his lips.
“What, your scars?” I’ll call him out on the smartass remark. I refuse to feel sorry for him. At least, I refuse to show it. He just gazes at me through the slits of his eyes. “They’re not all I see when I look at you. Sure, I see them, and I see what they’ve done to you, but I see you, too.” I inhale, leaning forward in the chair. “Look, I get what I’m doing to you is crazy and unfair, but I can’t stand to see you like this. I can’t stand to see you throwing your life away. And I know you don’t need me to tell you this. You always were a smart guy, Slate. You know what you’re doing to yourself. What I can’t figure out is why?” I pause, hoping he’ll say something, but he just keeps staring at me through those heavy lids. “I know what you’re gonna go through down here. You’ll get the shakes, get agitated, angry, and you’ll probably break some shit. Then you’ll get nauseous. Maybe even get sick. It’s going to feel like someone is tearing your insides apart. But I promise no matter what happens that I’m not going to leave you. I will stay right by your side.”
“Yeah.” His left eyebrow creases. “And why is that, Rayna?”
“Because you’re worth it, because I know who you are. And I know what we had was real, and although you may not care about me or anyone else, I care about you and so do a lot of other people, including the two guys who got your ass down here. You might not remember, but I do. I remember who you are. You’re the guy who tried to see the good in everyone. You were kind and caring. You were a man worth loving. So stop using those scars as an excuse, fight this damn addiction, and get your shit together.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I wish that I could close my eyes, and like all the other times, she’d go away. But I can’t. I never wanted her to see me like this; I never wanted her to know how fucked-up I turned out. I loved her. I do remember what we had, and that shit doesn’t just disappear. The drugs might dull my feelings, but what I felt for Rayna, it was always real. I got lucky. I didn’t deserve to have her for as long as I did. She had dreams, aspirations, and I knew she was going to leave the Bayou, but I also knew that I wasn’t.
I shouldn’t take what she’s doing here personal, either; this is how she deals with her guilt. Always trying to save a lost soul and fix people—she’s been like that since her brother died. Late to pick her up from school, he ran a red light and died instantly in the collision. That’s when I told her the truth about my parents. Seeing her beautiful spirit broken, it just came out. We were young. She was thirteen when her brother died, and I wanted her to feel as though she wasn’t alone, that I understood her loss. I wanted her to know that sometimes shit happens. Over the years, I’ve come to learn that what happened to my parents made Jax grow up too fast and made it so that Zeke can’t let anyone love him. And me, it made me angry, a part of me that I was able to control when Rayna was in my life. But since the fire, since the drugs, the only thing that sedates the anger now is the fighting. But with fighting comes the pain and where there is pain, the drugs then follow. It’s a vicious cycle. One I can’t seem to break.
Like my brothers and me, Rayna’s tragedy still haunts her. Obviously, she’s still harboring the guilt of her brother’s death. Why else would she be putting up with my shit? I’ve intentionally been an asshole. I’m not sure how much longer I can keep up the charade. It’s killing me to be so cruel to her.
Right now, I have a handle on things, but in a few hours, I’m going to lose all control. I’ve been down this road before, and she’s right. Everything she said is going to happen to me. The sweats, tremors, and the anger...fuck! I gotta get her out of here before all of that shit hits me.
“Are you hungry,” she asks.
“No,” I say closing my eyes. God, if only she’d disappear and go back to wherever she came from.
“How about a sandwich?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“It’s going to be a long day. You’re going to need your strength. I’m making you a sandwich.”
A few minutes pass before she’s shaking my shoulder. I snap my eyes open. “Don’t touch me,” I say, glaring up at her. I don’t like to be touched; it’s something that helps me win most of my fights. For months, people poked and prodded my mangled body as they tried to heal my burns, and each time, it became nothing more than a painful reminder of what I’ve become.