How did I get roped into this?

It's late; I'm on the clock and sitting across from this obnoxiously cute guy. Kaila's flashing me these looks, mouthing things at me, drawing hearts in the air like this is a damn Hallmark movie.

If I smile and nod, this should end soon.

"What do you think?"

"Huh?" I mutter, eyes snapping back to Bas, cheeks heating in embarrassment.

He smirks, adjusts in his chair, and sips his drink. "I said, there are some interesting things on that wall." He repeats, jabbing his thumb at the Wall of Expression. I glance at it, nod absent-mindedly.

"Yeah, I guess..." I drop off, zeroing in on my addition. It's changed since my shift started. No, it's been altered. Poison is now passion, the black is ringed in color, and the dark emotion I trapped inside those words are leaking out.

I bolt to my feet, coffee abandoned on the table, and stride up to the wall.

Bas follows me. "Something wrong?" His voice is smooth, unfazed, even amused. I scowl, turning to glare over my shoulder at him.

"Someone butchered my phrase," I grumble, fingers sliding over the wall, caressing the warped letters sadly. Behind me, Bas suppresses a laugh.

"Butchered? That's a bit dramatic," he says, sidling up beside me with his hands in his jeans pockets. I try not to notice how good those jeans look on him. "I think they added spirit to it, made it less depressing."

That snaps me out of it.

I turn to face him, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "What if it was supposed to be depressing? What if that's how I express myself?" Irritation sings in my veins.

Bas raises one pierced eyebrow, his lips still quirked in that aggravating smirk. "Why are you so depressed?"

The question throws me, and I shift anxiously, eyes drifting to the floor. My jagged bangs cover my eyes. Bas steps closer, tries to peer beneath them. I step back, bumping into a chair.

"I'm not," I deny, flustered. My fingers tighten around the sleeves of my hoodie, the scabs ache in protest, and I want to scratch them off, let the pain drip out like blood-soaked tears.

As Bas observes me, there's a beat of silence, the tension in my body growing hotter by the second. I feel like he's tempting the darkness inside me. Except this time, it's to create instead of destroy.

Then, he retreats with a shrug. "As you say." Returning to our table, he retrieves his drink. "So, you won't tell me about your art. What will you tell me?"

I frown, slowly return to my chair, and sip my drink, relishing in the taste of caramel and coffee. "Why do you want to know so badly? Tell me about you."

Bas just laughs, kicks one leg over the other, and shakes his head. "Google me, and you'll find all the answers to your questions. You—" he pauses, eyes meaningfully traveling down my body, taking in the ratty old hoodie, the ripped jeans, and black boots. "—are different, beautiful, scarred. And I—" he gestures to himself, looking rather pompous. "—love learning new things."

Despite the velvety soft tone of his voice, the waves of seduction he's so effortlessly exuding, and the gleam in his eyes that says he knows just how much girls adore him; I don't appreciate being called scarred. Even if I am.

"I wonder," our eyes lock, his twinkling, mine burning, "just how many girls have fallen for that crap line."

He blinks as if rejection is something new to him. I curl my fingers around the cup, sip the liquid heat, and refuse to drop his gaze.

Bas's lips quirk up in a smile, and the look he gives me—it's almost as if I've really pulled his attention this time. Drawn him into a game, made myself this challenge he wants to conquer. The thought makes me squirm, and I suddenly regret being so brazen. The last thing I want is attention from another skirt-chaser, or any guy, for that matter.

"You are different," Bas comments, almost to himself. I huff, down the rest of my drink, and get to my feet.

"I have a job to do," my abrupt departure is met with resistance when Bas grips my wrist. I hiss in pain, turning back to face him. He starts, drops me, looks genuinely concerned. "I'm sorry, did I—"

I stumble through the panic, unsure how to deflect.

"I'll text you," my words are rushed, spoken without thought, and I instantly regret them. But Bas pauses, shifting back into his usual player persona, and I know I've turned his thoughts to something more interesting. "Tonight, after my shift."

I hurry back to Kaila, the safety of the counter, the repetition of taking orders and making drinks, and the warmth of comfortable existence. My best friend eyes me as I approach, notices me holding my wrist to my stomach.

Fucking idiot.

"You good, Reecie?" Kaila wonders, stepping close.

I nod without meeting her eyes and greet the couple at the register. They order, I take their money, make drinks, repeat the process. Kaila is quiet while we work, but I feel her questions burning me like a brand.

Next I look up; Bas is still sitting at the table, watching me with those hazel eyes full of broken hearts and empty promises.

When the night is over, before I lock the doors, I approach the wall. Glare at my ruined phrase, search for new space, and draw thick black letters. There's a throb in my chest, one I attribute to Bas, so I push the emotion out through the tip of my marker.

Hope breeds heartbreak.

**

"Reece!" I flinch, press closer into the darkness of the closet space. The floorboards creak, I hear him breathing hard as he creeps into the bedroom. There's a click, the sound of his switchblade, and I whimper.

Just as quickly as the noise leaves me, I clamp my hands over my lips, suppress the sound, pray he didn't hear it. Beg for mercy to whoever will listen.

But the door flies open so hard it hits the wall with a bang. The scream leaves my chest before I can stop it as he fists my hair, hauls me out of the cocoon I've built around myself. I claw at his wrist, feeling blood rush to my scalp, hear the rip of my roots, feel warm liquid soak my hair.

He throws me against the wall, my back connecting with the drywall hard. He backhands me, my head snaps sideways, lip splitting under the pressure. I shriek, slide down the wall, attempt to curl into a ball. He laughs, bends down, hoists me up by my arms, flings me onto the bed.

Tears streak my cheeks, run red-hot against my icy skin. My hands are sweaty, there's a metallic taste in my mouth, and I'm shaking all over. "No, no!" I yell, pushing against him when he jerks my hoodie up, exposes my stomach to his unforgiving touch. He shushes me, black eyes dripping with delight.

"It's okay, Reecie," he purrs, hands roaming my hips. I whimper, sense the cold metal draw over my stomach, feel it split skin. When I scream, he presses his hand to my mouth. When I bite down on his fingers, he curses and tosses me to the floor. I yelp when my body connects with the hardwood, try to get away when he aims his boot at my stomach.

"Stop, stop, please, stop!" I'm begging; he's laughing. I'm crying, trying to get away. He's pulling my ankle, dragging me across the floor. Then he's above me, pressing himself against me—his breath coats my face, hands on my breasts, knee between my legs.

"Relax, Reecie, it'll be over before you know it."

I lurch upright, a scream lodged in my throat, sweat trailing between my shoulder blades. The sheets are tangled around my legs, fists clenched so tight my knuckles are white. My breath comes in ragged breaths, the scene replaying over and over in my head like a horror movie I can't escape from.

"Leave me alone, leave me alone," I mutter, cradling my head between my hands, fisting the hair against my scalp. My stomach hurts as if it all just happened. The scar from the blade is still there, covered with tattoos but never erased. The bruises have faded, but I feel them like phantom limbs, always waiting to be remembered.

My heart is hammering in my chest, beating against my ribs as if it could explode from my body. I dislodge the sheets, wipe the sweat from my forehead, and climb out of bed. My knees buckle, and I hit the ground with a thud, a cry slipping out before I can help it.

For a moment, I'm terrified that I've awoken Kaila, that she'll come barging through the door like she used to when the nightmares were so bad that I'd scream in my sleep. I hold my breath, achingly still, listen for footsteps. But the darkness is quiet, haunting, and Kaila's bedroom door doesn't creak open.

I gasp in relief, try to get my feet under me. Curling my arms around myself, I stumble to the door and creep into the hallway. The bathroom looms closer, illuminated by a flowery nightlight, its buds casting pinks and greens and blues into the darkness. I flip the light, close the door as silently as possible, and turn the lock.

"Oh, God," I whisper, scrambling to the toilet and expelling the small amount of food from my churning stomach. My head is pounding with the sound of blood in my ears, his voice thrumming through my skull like a curse.

A few minutes pass, I spend them curled on the floor in between dry heaves. When my body is sufficiently exhausted, I raise shaking fingers to the counter, knock the mouthwash to the floor. With it comes my handheld mirror. It cracks against the tile, splintering into a handful of glittering shards. I cringe at the noise, hurry to gather the jagged pieces before Kaila wakes.

But my finger catches on a corner, the skin slices easily, and blood drips from the wound. I exhale, the pain sending a shiver down my spine. My hands stop twitching, and I close my eyes, take steadying breaths.

"Reecie?" There's a knock on the door, Kaila's tired voice. "Are you okay in there?" I bite my lip, rush to gather the broken mirror and toss it in the trash bin. I'm up, braced against the sink, clutching my cut finger behind my back in a wadded-up paper towel when I creak open the door.

"Hey Kay, I'm fine. Just had to pee. Go back to sleep." I whisper. Light casts Kaila's sleepy face in a yellow glow. Her blue hair is wild, still half caught in a bun atop her head, the rest spilling out in wisps. She blinks, clears her throat, and takes in the sight of me doubtfully.

"Are you sure nothing's wrong? I thought I heard something break." She probes, hands on her hips, green eyes more alert now. I flounder for words, grip the doorknob tighter.

"Yeah, I knocked my mirror to the floor when I was washing my hands. Sorry to wake you." Kaila's shoulders tense, and she presses closer to the gap, trying to shove it open with her shoulder.

"Reecie, are you hurting yourself again? Let me in." She snaps, a fevered pitch to her voice. I shove back on the door, panic and irritation warring with the flood of love I feel for her.

"Kaila, stop. It's just a little cut; it was an accident." I protest, shoving my finger at her. She bites her lip, unwraps the wound, and puffs out a breath, eyeing me suspiciously.

"You promise?" I nod, retracting my hand with a frustrated glare. Kaila returns it, "I'm only trying to help Reecie," she pleads, green eyes ready to brim over with tears. I inwardly rear back from it, wishing she'd stop looking at me like I'm broken. The pity in her gaze is painful, cuts me more than any blade, makes me feel useless and pathetic.

"I know, Kay, I'm fine. I need to finish cleaning up. Go back to bed." I tell her, Kaila remains planted in the doorframe, contemplative. I set my jaw.

Then, finally, she relents with a nod and turns away. I click the door shut, turn the lock, lean into the doorframe, and hold my breath. Her footsteps creak softly on the floor. I wait until I hear her door close before snatching up the last piece of the broken mirror.

My eyes catch my reflection, a girl with Sharpie covered arms, scarred skin, purple circles under her eyes, jagged blonde hair. The tattoos on my torso show through my white tank top and peek out from beneath my shorts, spanning from hip to foot. Inner thighs, neck, and breasts the only remaining bare skin I have.

What a sight.

With a shaky breath, I kick my legs over the ledge of the tub and grab my washcloth from its hook. Wrapping it around the shard, I pull my shorts up, draw long, penetrating lines on the insides of my thighs with the sharpest edge.

I gasp, curling forward in pain, feeling a tingling sensation spread out from the cuts. Blood drips down my leg, pools on the tub floor, and trickles toward the drain. I whimper, feel overwhelming relief flood me, send all the painful memories into that blood. Relive my wounds, break them open and let them leak out in rivulets.

When I turn on the water, the blood trailslithers down the drain, and I send those dark thoughts, long nights, andwicked voice with it.