Page 1 of Attraction & Repulsion

Chapter one

It only took two swipes to satisfy the craving.

The damage was done.

Carson’s vision faded in and out as a hazy memory flickered in her mind: lifting her shirt and pressing a sharp object, the first sharp object she could get her hands on, to her rib cage. The pocketknife had been cold as it made a clean cut, followed by goosebumps texturing her entire body.

Now she was slumped over the oak kitchen table, her long, black hair swept across her face, blindly staring at the gleaming blade in her hand as it mocked her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and winced as it stretched the fresh cut. The pain felt like ice water being thrown in her face, waking her from the trance and back into reality.

She ran to the toilet to vomit.

After flushing, she sat back against the wall as hot tears burned a path down her cheeks. Once again she had succumbed to a catatonic state where she numbly sabotaged her body. She hated the self-harm, she feared it, yet she still mutilated her body and, worse,likedit? Even desired it at times. The way the blade sliced through her fragile skin, leaving mark after mark after mark, was pleasure. It was agony.

The self-disgust continued to rage within Carson as she picked herselfup off the floor and rummaged around for the first-aid kit in the cabinet under the sink, where she had tossed it the last time. Mechanically, she cleaned the drying blood that had trickled down her stomach, applied ointment, and secured a bandage—a ritual carried out by muscle memory.

Shoving the kit back under the sink, she grabbed her phone sitting on the bathroom counter. Three new messages sat patiently on her screen, all from Raegan.

How are you doing today? Been thinking about you all morning.

What are you wearing to the softball tournament? It's supposed to rain. UGH.

Hunter left already. I might be late. If you're there before me, find us a place to sit.

Carson typed a thumbs up, then leaned on the counter to stare at herself in the mirror. Under her emerald eyes were dark shadows, a contrast against her pale skin. What would Raegan, her best friend, say if she found out her secret? Her stomach turned once more at the pathetic humiliation of being a woman in her thirties who cuts her skin on purpose. She had lost all control of her mind, of the body that betrayed her five years ago.

What had become of her?

This monologue would play in her head on repeat, over and over, always ending with a seemingly simple answer: just stop cutting.

Ignoring the familiar stinging on her side, Carson wrapped her arms around her chest. She could just stop. If only she wanted to.

Chapter two

Being stuck outside in bleachers with dozens of sweaty people on a blistering August evening was the last place Carson wanted to be, especially today.

The crowd cheered as the batter hit the ball into the outfield, then sprinted past first base and second before sliding into third. Carson choked down a grumble when the trio of young women beside her whooped and giggled at the City of Prescott’s firefighters and police officers on the field. Trying to dispel the ringing from their shrill laughs, Carson shoved her pinky finger in her ear and wiggled it around.

It didn’t matter, though, because Raegan was hollering just as loud as the badge chasers on her other side.

“That’s my man right there!” Raegan belted, cupping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone. On the field, Hunter flashed a smile up at them while dusting the dirt off his black-and-red uniform. She blew him a kiss, then planted herself back in her seat, her wavy golden bob bouncing. “Damn, he looks so fine in that uniform. I’m going to make him keep it on later tonight.”

Carson rolled her eyes, then shifted in her seat trying to bring blood flow back into her legs. Her backside needed a break, and her skin needed . . . more pain. “I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

Raegan peeled her eyes away from the tournament. “Do you need me to go with you?”

“No. I’ll be right back.”

Shuffling past a sea of legs and feet with apologies, even receiving a few irritated grunts in return, Carson managed to make her way down the stands and onto the concrete path toward the mediocre facilities. A roar erupted from the bleachers as the announcer called a home run for—as Hunter had proudly helped name his softball team—the Super Soakers. Carson could imagine the groans coming from their competitors, the Boys in Blue.

Rushing into the bathroom she shut the door behind her, muting the game. After checking that the stalls were empty, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. The cacophony of the stands still echoed in her ears.

“One more hour and it’s over. You’re doing this for Raegan. Luke would want you to be out having fun today,” she whispered.

Wanting to inspect the bandages on her ribs, she lifted her shirt. Only a little blood had seeped through. There was a reason she always wore black.

Then her eyes darted around the bathroom, yearning for something sharp. Just to get her through the rest of the night—to get her through another year. Nothing behind stall door one. Two. Three. She let her fingers slide across the corner of the sink, the hand dryer, the trash can. Dull. Round. Useless.

Carson harrumphed. The pain would have to wait until she got home. After allowing herself another minute of silence, she stepped back outside, ready to brave the crowd again.

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