I don’t even think anyone noticed.
Well. . .Quin kept asking about the lace. . .kept studying them. . .like she could see the scars behind them.
I cut again the next nights. Always, I made sure they were delicate lines that couldn’t be seen too much on the stage when I danced.
I should have stopped, but I felt like I was cleansing my soul.
Cutting got my mind off the thoughts of the past—the loss of my mother’s love, the distorted memories of Russell in my room at night, and all my ponderings of what may or may not have happened.
On the nights when the lines healed, I opened the scars back up. I refreshed them with more scratching of the scissors.
I knew it was wrong.
I knew I should stop.
And I began to dread the night for more reasons than fear and emptiness. I started to worry that one day I would cut my wrists or throat.
Thankfully, Quin noticed something was wrong. When I was changing in the back of the strip club, she was in there and made a comment about the scars on my thighs never healing.
I shrugged it off.
I would never tell her about what I was dealing with. Quin battled her own demons. She struggled with her own painful sleepless nights. There was no need to make her load heavier.
Later that night, she showed up to my apartment with Boss and wouldn’t take no for an answer.
When I went to the bathroom during her visit and came back out, she mysteriously disappeared. Boss lay next to Queen in the living room, wagging his tail. I’d found it odd how she left.
Hours later, I realized almost every sharp object in the place was gone with her. There were no sharp knives and scissors. Not even pens nor sewing needles. She just took away whatever could make scars.
This week with Boss around, I began to get some sleep.
I still yearned to cut myself, but I was too embarrassed that Quin knew. So, I started self-medicating and chemically numbing the emotions. I smoked blunts and an occasional cigarette. I ate sweets until my stomach was full. I drank enough rum until all I could do was collapse, knowing Boss would wake me if anyone came in.
Tonight, I checked that my gun was loaded for the fifth time and placed it back in the top drawer of my night stand.
Sighing, I stumbled into bed with my new pajama short set on.
I bought them yesterday.
Quin and I had been strolling around my new area. We stopped by a restaurant spot that we would usually never enter. For some reason, I dragged her into the place. We ended up having a nice meal—garlic buttered lamb chops with mushroom risotto and a carrot souffle. Quin ended up ordering a bottle of wine that we knew was out of her budget, but we enjoyed the shit out of it, nonetheless.
And we laughed so much, telling stories and whispering about gossip on the streets.
After the meal, I spotted a boutique next door and dragged her into that.
I spotted the pajamas on the sales rack. They were a startling dark blue and made from a buttery soft satin. The shorts stopped at mid-thigh, high enough to show off the shape of my legs. The matching short sleeve top had a V-neck collar and buttons in the center.
But that color of blue haunted me. It reminded me of the lake behind Cain’s chapel. One of the few memories with him that didn’t bring terror. Our moments at the lake lingered in my mind. They soothed me. I gazed at those pajamas and instantly, this sensation of healing seeped into me. I had to buy them.
The saleswoman made Quin uncomfortable as she watched us. Quin was ready to leave.
I couldn’t.
I snatched the pajamas off the rack and tried them on. They weren’t as form-fitting as the clothes I usually wore, but they hugged my body in all the right places.
Plus, they were soft and warm, and it was so calming to see myself in them. I didn’t know how long I stayed in that dressing room, looking at myself in the mirror and barely recognizing my reflection.
I felt important.
I felt comfortable.
I felt elegant.
For a second, I saw those scars healing on my thighs and yearned to pick at them.
But, I didn’t.
Instead, I bought the pajamas.
I’m going to wear more blue.
I left the thoughts of yesterday and focused on this moment.
I’m safe. Cain won’t find me. And. . .I’ll keep on healing.
Yawning, I closed my eyes and sank into the comfort of my bed.
Cain won’t find me. I’ll leave Glory if I must.
For the first time since moving into the apartment, I began to fall into a deep sleep with my head on one pillow and my other arm draped over another pillow. With each breath, I could sense my life shifting into some form of balance with the chaos as if I were becoming a part of the. . .universe or whatever. . .life energy that flowed around me.