is. Nothing is that straightforward in reality, and I’m terrified. Ricky’s and my life are about to be turned upside down. But at least now I know there are people out there to help give me the courage. No matter how alone I feel I don’t have to do this by myself.
Chapter Twelve
“We are still masters of our fate. We are still captains of our souls.” - Winston Churchill
Luke
I go into work grumpy and tired, and grumble in annoyance each time the alarm goes off. Most of the fires are small, until at about 2:00 a.m., when a call comes in for a huge factory blaze.
The giant orange flames light up the sky, looking kind of beautiful, when I know no one is inside this dangerous hazard. Grey smoke coils upwards, wrapping around the stars and looking like clouds in the night. Whatever is burning, crackles and explodes, as it gets eaten away by the extreme heat.
“What is wrong with you, Luke? Get your head in the game!” I’m shaken out of my appraisal of the sight in front of me by Jake, lucky it wasn’t the chief who caught me zoning out, before dealing with this callout or he’d consider me a risk and not let me out of the truck. I’m not sitting in here while the guys with families are out there fighting. I haul ass and join my crew.
*****
I ’m surprised when I see Roxi running again the next morning. I expected her to avoid me after what I discovered. Although, the long sleeve shirt and sweatpants she wears compared to her usual attire has me suspicious. What is she trying to cover?
“Did you forget its summer out?” I make a joke, attempting to get a response off her without scaring her away. If I don’t tread lightly I may never see her again, then I would never get my chance to help her obtain a better life, a safer life.
I lightly graze my fingertips over the material wishing I was touching her skin instead of the cotton. She sucks in a sharp breath at my touch and I look at her questioningly.
What did that bastard do to her?
She tries to pull her arm away from me, but I wrap my hands around hers, stopping her. As I push up the sweatshirt at her wrist, I’m horrified by what I see. Cuts are crisscrossed all over her delicate skin, angry red lines against the palest of white.
Fuck. Self-harm, I’d recognize the signs in anyone. I personally identify with it. My head pounds, as that familiar feeling comes back to me. The anxiety that builds, threatening to eat you alive from the inside out. The need to cause physical pain, as a distraction from your own tortured thoughts.
“Why?” I simply ask her. However, I know why. This time when she tries to pull away I don’t stop her. I subconsciously rub at my own wrist. Cutting only works in the short term and the scars never leave, on the inside or the outside.
“I....” she pauses as she thinks about what to say.
“Don't you dare tell me that was an accident, I’m not stupid. That isn’t gonna fly.” The time for skirting lightly around the issue is over. If her husband doesn’t kill her, she could very well kill herself.
After a while the cutting is not enough. You get used to it, immune so to speak. It doesn’t affect you anymore, or cause the distraction you desire. So you move on to bigger things, more dangerous things. Even though I’m pretty sure she isn’t trying to off herself, accidents happen, tragic accidents that will forever affect everybody around you, and I should know.
Her eyes dart everywhere, and she shifts from foot to foot appearing flighty. “Please don't run from me. Let me help.” As she tries to explain to me that I don't understand I take her hand and place it on my left wrist. I watch her pupils go wide as she discovers the jagged white scars that are still there. “I understand, sweetheart.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, and it’s like staring into a mirror. Both sets contain the same deep anguish.
In the past, cutting was my escape. It’s a place I know well, I was on suicide watch a long
Chapter Twelve
“We are still masters of our fate. We are still captains of our souls.” - Winston Churchill
Luke
I go into work grumpy and tired, and grumble in annoyance each time the alarm goes off. Most of the fires are small, until at about 2:00 a.m., when a call comes in for a huge factory blaze.
The giant orange flames light up the sky, looking kind of beautiful, when I know no one is inside this dangerous hazard. Grey smoke coils upwards, wrapping around the stars and looking like clouds in the night. Whatever is burning, crackles and explodes, as it gets eaten away by the extreme heat.
“What is wrong with you, Luke? Get your head in the game!” I’m shaken out of my appraisal of the sight in front of me by Jake, lucky it wasn’t the chief who caught me zoning out, before dealing with this callout or he’d consider me a risk and not let me out of the truck. I’m not sitting in here while the guys with families are out there fighting. I haul ass and join my crew.
*****
I ’m surprised when I see Roxi running again the next morning. I expected her to avoid me after what I discovered. Although, the long sleeve shirt and sweatpants she wears compared to her usual attire has me suspicious. What is she trying to cover?
“Did you forget its summer out?” I make a joke, attempting to get a response off her without scaring her away. If I don’t tread lightly I may never see her again, then I would never get my chance to help her obtain a better life, a safer life.
I lightly graze my fingertips over the material wishing I was touching her skin instead of the cotton. She sucks in a sharp breath at my touch and I look at her questioningly.
What did that bastard do to her?
She tries to pull her arm away from me, but I wrap my hands around hers, stopping her. As I push up the sweatshirt at her wrist, I’m horrified by what I see. Cuts are crisscrossed all over her delicate skin, angry red lines against the palest of white.
Fuck. Self-harm, I’d recognize the signs in anyone. I personally identify with it. My head pounds, as that familiar feeling comes back to me. The anxiety that builds, threatening to eat you alive from the inside out. The need to cause physical pain, as a distraction from your own tortured thoughts.
“Why?” I simply ask her. However, I know why. This time when she tries to pull away I don’t stop her. I subconsciously rub at my own wrist. Cutting only works in the short term and the scars never leave, on the inside or the outside.
“I....” she pauses as she thinks about what to say.
“Don't you dare tell me that was an accident, I’m not stupid. That isn’t gonna fly.” The time for skirting lightly around the issue is over. If her husband doesn’t kill her, she could very well kill herself.
After a while the cutting is not enough. You get used to it, immune so to speak. It doesn’t affect you anymore, or cause the distraction you desire. So you move on to bigger things, more dangerous things. Even though I’m pretty sure she isn’t trying to off herself, accidents happen, tragic accidents that will forever affect everybody around you, and I should know.
Her eyes dart everywhere, and she shifts from foot to foot appearing flighty. “Please don't run from me. Let me help.” As she tries to explain to me that I don't understand I take her hand and place it on my left wrist. I watch her pupils go wide as she discovers the jagged white scars that are still there. “I understand, sweetheart.”
We stare into each other’s eyes, and it’s like staring into a mirror. Both sets contain the same deep anguish.
In the past, cutting was my escape. It’s a place I know well, I was on suicide watch a long
Similar Books
