Page 45 of Atonement

I held up the knife I’d grabbed before dropping it on the counter and opening the first aid kit, searching for rubbing alcohol. He stepped out of the shower behind me, dragging a towel across his body and wrapping it around his waist before falling on the ground against the wall. There were no cotton balls, so I used a towel clean his arm. Then I handed him the knife.

“Okay,” I whispered, sitting back and wrapping my arms around my knees.

“You don’t have to watch,” he said, testing the tip of the knife against the pad of his fingers. “You’ve had to look at enough blood today.”

“After all we went through downstairs? I’m not leaving now.” I pressed my mouth against my knees, looking up at him through my lashes. He nodded, shifting so my view of his arm was partially blocked.

Then he cut.

He went slow, as if savoring the motion, the pain, the ritual of his injury. He traced the knife over the cuts that were still healing, opening them anew and almost assuring they would scar. When that was done, he went further. Five, six, seven times he drew the blade across his bicep and sent blood tumbling down his arm, dripping from his elbow, trailing to the fingers and spilling onto the tile. His face twitched as he cut, but there was no other expression, no sharp intake of breath to indicate he even felt the pain. When he was done, he dropped the knife to the floor with a clatter and fell back with his eyes closed.

“Better,” he whispered. And he did look more relaxed. His body sagged, face went slack, even as the blood kept falling down his arm.

“Can I clean it?” I wanted to stop that blood as soon as I could, keep it inside his body where it belonged. He didn’t need to be hurt any more. He’d already suffered enough.

“In a minute.” He sounded drunk, or high, disconnected from himself somehow. “Let me feel it a little longer.”

I held his right hand lightly, mindful of his fractured bones, while he breathed slowly as if asleep. A tear landed on my hand, spilling onto his skin.

“Don’t cry.”

I jumped when I raised my head and found him watching me.

“How can I not, Meyer? When you need to hurt yourself to feel grounded?”

“Things will be better now. I can get happy. But I had to do this. At least one more time.” He wrangled free his hand and reached for my face, stroking his thumb across my cheek and clearing the tears. “We’ll be okay. Do you believe me?”

I didn’t answer.

“Baby.” He traced one finger along my jaw. “Don’t be mad.”

“Am I not enough for you?”

“That’s not what it means, Maddie.” He grabbed me, pulling me close despite my half-hearted struggles. His bloody left arm wrapped around me, smearing blood on my skin and shirt. “I was playing the victim card before, but it’s true. I’m sick. I should have been taking medication years ago, but Conrad wouldn’t let me, and then it became a source of personal pride. It was more manly to scar myself instead of take a pill.”

I snuggled against his chest, hand on his heartbeat.

“Look at me.”

But I couldn’t. I had to keep listening, because what if his heart stopped beating and I missed it?

He’ll be okay.

He hadn’t spilled enough blood to put him at risk. I knew that. I just had to keep reminding myself.

“Maddie.” He grabbed my chin, fingers slick with blood sliding over my face, and pulled me up to look at him. “I’m right here.”

“No.” I grabbed his wrist. “You’re not. You’re so far away from me I can barely see you. I thought this would free you, but it just made everything worse.”

“I’m here. I promise.” He let go of my face and slid a hand beneath my shirt, palm against my side. He felt warmer than he ever had before. “Do you feel me?” His other arm pulled me closer to him, until there was barely any distance between our faces.

I thought back to the times I’d been so broken, so close to thinking I was ruined for the rest of my life. His hands on my body. His lips on mine. He needed that help now. He just didn’t know how to ask for it.

“Feel me,” I said, placing his other hand on my breast. His breath caught at the same time his fingers twitched around me, thumb moving reflexively to caress my nipple.

“We shouldn’t—”

I kissed him before he could finish the thought, claimed his lips as easily as he’d always claimed me in the past, pushing him back into the wall so I could climb across his hips. And miraculously, it was as if the events of the past twenty four hours fell off our bodies like dented armor, collapsing to the floor between us. His hand beneath my shirt slid farther up my body, then to my back, as he crushed me tighter against his chest.

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