Page 38 of CurVy Baby

Can’t shake the thoughts… I imagine opening one of these spare rooms and seeing shoes hovering from the ground, my eyes blurring instantly, the world no longer filled with wonder, my throat contorting, soundless screams burning me, as I step backwards to not bump into the hanging body.

Oh, God.He wouldn’t. Surely. Did he hear Dexter? Did he hear me? Does he think I would let anyone send him away?

Never.

Never.

He’s mine!

I’m squinting through a storage room from the door jamb when I hear music. The sound pulls bile up my neck.

Through a shaky breath, I force myself to look down the corridor to the very last room. Door closed. Light a rectangle border…

I don’t know why I’m so scared.

This is just not like him, not at all. He’s always glued to me or Molly—he’s my golden retriever boyfriend. The sweet, fragile, six-foot-three, all-muscled, chiselled jaw, scarred angel that I can’t breathe without.

My hands sweat as I slowly walk towards the door, single-minded, arrowed. I look at the slither of light beneath the door, hoping to see a shadow break it, an indication of movement on the other side. Of life.

I see nothing. Just still.

The music gets louder.

I reach out and turn the door handle.

Swing it open.

Hold my breath.

A piano sonata hits me.

And I burst into tears when I see Tyler sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed, staring at his hands.

“Tyler.” I rush to him, falling at his feet. I grab his hands and kiss them, worshipping each scar, and then cup his rough jaw to punch kisses over his lips. “I thought—” Tears cloud my vision. “I thought—"Fuck, his brothers. Turning, I call down the corridor, “Donnie! Dexter! He’s here.”

He grips my shoulders and pushes me backwards to my heels, putting space between us. My eyes gape up at him, but I don’t go to touch him again. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“If you touch me, I can’t think.”

“Okay.” I lift my trembling hands, showing him my palms. “I won’t. Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Heavy footsteps thunder up the stairs, and before I know it, Donnie and Dexter are standing in the open doorway.

“Goddamn it, Tyler!” Donnie thrusts his hand through his dark hair, a look of pure agony on his face as he drags it back down and groans.

Dexter squeezes his eyes shut, a single tear breaking free, trailing the sharp contours of his features. “Fuck.”

Tyler’s eyes lift to us, detached, clouded momentarily in thought. “Donnie. Dex. I made you worry. I’m sorry.” He looks between us. “Vallie Baby.” Affectionately, he brushes my hair over my shoulder, an apology in his touch, but his gaze gets snagged on the uneven surface of his knuckles thread with my hair. “After I heard your conversation?—”

I start, “Ty, I should?—”

“Let me talk.” His voice is deep and dominant, tone heavy, but still only slightly louder than a whisper. “I found myself in my room with a blade to my knuckles. These knuckles.” He pulls his hands back, staring. “Trigger. Heard Martha playing. I wanted the ribbons out. The talent. My genius. If I cut it out, then you won't send me away… There.”

I sob softly. “Tyler.”

His blue eyes, turbulent pits of sorrow, suddenly glisten above a forming smile. It’s odd. Sorrow and strength in one expression. “But I stopped. I didn’t bleed.” His smile grows, and he looks between us. “'Cause of Molly. Molly has talent. She's going to be a pop star, and I never, ever want her to be afraid of her talent. I'm a dad first. So...”

He rises to his feet. “I'll go. If you want me to go to this place, this treatment place, if it will help, I’ll go.”

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