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“It’s better when we don’t. The guilt…it hurts us both so much. We don’t even celebrate my birthday anymore. Quinn was my twin.”

He goes to ask another question, but pauses. A smile creeps across his lips.

“Harley, your twin sister’s name is Quinn? You two were Harley Quinn?” He laughs. It’s been so long since I heard such a beautiful sound, and while talking about my sister.

The weight of the nightmare eases.

I can’t help but laugh a little too.

“My dad was a huge fan of comic books.” I shrug. “Mom let him name us since we weren’t boys.” I roll my eyes, but it’s sarcastic. Dad never once treated us anything other than his prized daughters. He wouldn’t have traded us for anything.

“I bet the two of you did the name proud.” He brushes hisfingertips along my cheek. “You should still celebrate your birthday,” he says firmly.

“If the guy’s ever caught. Maybe then. But now, it just feels wrong. I don’t want to hurt Mom any more than she’s been hurt.” I frown and tap my temple. “I told you; I’m broken.”

He pulls my hand down to my lap.

“You’re not broken.” He rests his hand on my knee and plays with the hem of my nightshirt. “I’m going to help you.”

“Help me?” I laugh a little. “How?”

“We’re going to find out who did this to you.”

He sounds so confident in his statement. I’m not sure I want to think too hard about it. “The police, the FBI did try.” Not too hard, I think. But I was so caught up in my own mess, I’m not sure I’m remembering that, or anything, right.

“They failed. You can’t always depend on them.” He runs his hand up my leg, just above my knee. “But you can always depend on me. Understand?” His tone hardens again.

“You’ve just met me, why do you want to help?”

He leans in. “Sometimes you meet someone who just clicks with you, you know? Like two pieces of a puzzle, they just fit. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s us, Harley. We’re two pieces that fit together. And when it happens, you don’t argue with it.” His hand slides higher up my leg and I tense.

“Zack.” I push against his hand, but he moves it higher, then starts to feel around the inside of my thigh.

Tears build, but I blink them away.

It’s better he learns now.

This is who I am.

Broken.

“What is this?” He shoves my nightshirt up and sits up more so he can get a better look at the mess I’ve made.Reaching over, he flicks on the side table lamp and all of the scars are exposed.

“Don’t,” I whisper as he lightly traces each jagged scar on both my thighs. The insides, the outsides, the tops, everywhere I could reach. Anywhere I could hide with a long pair of shorts or skirt.

“Did you do this?” He levels me with a hard stare and for a moment I think he’s going to toss me off his lap and storm out. It wouldn’t be the first time. Who wants to look at this mess, much less touch it?

“Harley. No lies, remember.” He doesn’t so much as blink. “Did you do this?”

I nod.

His eyes soften, and he returns his stare to my legs.

“You were trying to make the pain on the inside come out.” He traces a long scar. It’s raised, and uglier than the others. I’d cut too deep. I almost needed to get stitches for that one.

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