Page 47 of Stitches

“What do we considerproving?” Stitches asked.

I said nothing, having no idea how to even answer that as I flipped my lighter open and closed, each time the flame springing to life before I extinguished it with a snap of the lid.

“He’s been cutting himself,” Church said after a beat of silence.

“What? How do you know that?” I stopped with my lighter and looked over at him.

“I saw the wounds. I went out for a run and saw him at the lake. I stopped to remind him to go fuck himself. He. . . he showed me what he was doing to punish himself.” Church looked at his feet. “He’s fucking himself up.”

“What do you mean?” I glanced at Stitches to see him watching Church with crinkled brows.

“I mean, it’s bad.” Church rubbed the back of his neck and let out a loud sigh.

“He’s physically hurting himself?” I frowned at that information, my guts twisted in knots. While I wanted him to fucking hurt, something about knowing he really was made me a little sick inside. Sin was the type of guy who never stopped. He didn’t have that button inside his brain. Once he was set on something, he saw it through.

“Yeah. Beating himself. Cutting. Who the fuck knows what else. He was chewed to hell,” Church looked up through the willow branches again. “It doesn’t matter though. It’s nothing compared to what Sirena went through.” Church leveled his gaze on Stitches. “Or you.”

Stitches stared back at him for a moment before shaking his head, his face pinched in pain.

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice low. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” I started, but Stitches held his hand up to silence me.

“Listen, bad shit happened in that place. Really fucking bad, twisted shit. Some of it I’m not even sure was real,” his voice cracked, and he wiped quickly at his eyes. “I’m still trying to sort through it all. I want to tell you guys, but I don’t even know what I could tell you. If my words would even be real or true.”

“If they’re real to you, they’re real,” I said gently while Church eyed him, his forehead wrinkled like he was deep in thought and contemplating something.

Stitches shook his head. “When I get shit sorted in my head, we’ll talk, OK? I’m just not ready. I know you guys want me to be, but I’m just not. Focus on Sirena, not me. I’ll be OK.”

“Will you though?” I flicked my lighter open and watched the flame dance for a moment before looking at him.

He visibly swallowed and looked away. “I’m always OK, Asher. You know that. I-I’m working on things. I swear I am.”

“I need to meet Sully,” Church said, clearing his throat.

I looked at him in surprise. I knew he wanted to get to the bottom of Stitches’s trauma and feelings, so his abruptly changing the subject caught me off guard.

“I thought he could fuck off?” I went back to opening and closing my lighter again.

“He can, but I want to know what that fuck he’s planning. Seems like the best way to know is to meet with him. I’m sure it’s some bullshit to do with my father, so I may as well get it over with. If that’s the case, then Sirena could be involved. We can’t allow that.”

I nodded. It seemed like a good idea, even though I knew Church didn’t want to meet with any of them.

“I’ll be back later. Tell Sirena. . .” his voice trailed off.

“We’ll take care of her,” I said.

Church nodded and without another word, walked past the hanging branches of the willow and disappeared into the dark cemetery.

We were both quiet for a moment before Stitches spoke.

“I miss him,” he said.

“Who? Dante?”

“No. Sin. I wish things could go back to the way they were before Sirena got here.”

I ran my fingers along the edge of the flame from my lighter for a moment, mesmerized by the slight twinge of pain and the warmth.

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