Page 104 of Under the Ink

To his finger, though, they were hard to miss.

Goddamn it. Hadhebeen the cause? Had he made her revert to an unhealthier state?

And if he really was the problem, what could he do to help her?

Should he let her go?

“Ow. That hurts,” Naomi mumbled against his chest.

“Oh, shit. Sorry.” He hadn’t even realized he’d continued rubbing the scabbed lines, as if his finger could erase them from existence.

Shifting in bed, she untangled herself from his arms and the sheets and sat up. “I guess you were bound to find those.”

“Hey,” he said, sitting up next to her. A month ago, she might have been pulling on her clothes, ready to rush out of the room. That she hadn’t run, instead pulling her knees up to her chest as if trying to protect herself, told him she might be willing to listen.

To accept his assistance…and to maybe hear him out.

“There’s something I don’t think you give yourself credit for.”

As if he was speaking in a foreign language, she turned her head to make eye contact with him. “What?”

In that soft light, she was the most beautiful she’d ever been in his eyes. He could understand how lots of people could overlook it, because she’d done a great job making herself look untouchable—like a dangerous animal no one would want to interact with. But he saw underneath it all—the beauty of what could have been a frail, helpless soul who’d fought back and become stronger. Something deep inside him wanted to take her hand and help her walk through whatever hell she felt like she needed to endure.

But did she? Was itallself-inflicted?

“You’re a survivor. You’re tough—and you’re stronger than anyone else I know.”

There was no missing the derision in her voice. “Ha.” Shifting her gaze so that she was looking at the foot of the bed, she shook her head slightly.

“Youare. Why can’t you see it?”

“Why can’tyousee it, Sage? I’m damaged goods,” she said, finally turning to look at him again. For a few seconds, she seemed to struggle to get the words out. “When I was a little girl…maybe seven or eight—I’m not sure. I can’t remember—but I was playing in the backyard and I saw one of the stray cats that hung around our neighborhood carrying something in its mouth. I got closer and kept looking, trying to figure out what it was. Finally, it dropped a mouse. The little thing started to run away and the cat picked it up again in its mouth and then dropped it, batting at it. So I went over to the water faucet where the cats would sometimes lick at the spout and turned it on just a little and started calling her over. I don’t know what I thought that would do—but after a bit, shedidcome. She even let me pick her up, so I held her and then went over to look at the mouse. It had moved inside the rock garden my mom had in the back, hiding underneath a cactus. The cat didn’t see it but she wanted down again and started looking around, trying to find it. After a while, she finally got bored and left, but I stayed there all day, watching and praying that mouse would get up and run. But it didn’t. It never did. It was too hurt. Too injured.”

Looking back at Sage, she said, “I think I’m that mouse. Because, yeah, I’m able to move. I can go through the motions like anybody else…but I don’t know how to actuallylive.”

“I want to help you do that, baby.”

“You can’t. No one can.”

“That’s not true. Lots of peop—”

“No. You can’t compare me to other people. You don’t know what’s inside me. I’m that mouse laying under the cactus who doesn’t know it’s dead yet.”

He touched her shoulder blade, deciding not to say anything else. Instead, he’d just bring her into his arms and hold her, letting his message speak to her that way. Part of him knew her brain could likely be bathing in alcohol—and it might be better trying to talk to her when she was sober.

But she yanked her shoulder away, sliding out of bed quickly, and started pulling on her clothes.

“Babe…you were holding it together when you joined the tour. What happened? Was it because of Andy or being exposed to everything here?”

“No. I…I don’t know,” she said, pulling on her boots. “I was living a fucking lie…telling myself all the bullshit you’re trying to feed me right now. Like how strong I am. If I’m so fucking strong, why am I like this?”

“That’s why I want to help you.”

“And how exactly do you think you can do that? You said I need talk therapy—but you don’t exactly have a degree in psychology, do you, Dr. Jackson? And it’s not like you even try to give me what I want—I tell you to fuck me hard and you can’t do it. Youwon’tdo it. You’re afraid of hurting me—but that’s what you don’t understand. You can’t kill a mouse that’s already dead, and you can’t damage a person who’s already broken.”

Jesus H. Shewasdamaged, but… Setting aside all the things she’d said in her attempt to hurt him, he pressed on. “Don’t you even want to try?”

“I gave up a long time ago—and why don’t you? Are you so fucking pathetic that you need the broken girl to worship at your feet? Do you have to be the knight in shining armor ‘cause you think I need it?” Pulling a thin black t-shirt over her head, her eyes glowed like fiery emeralds, full of rage that she’d tampered down but hadn’t kept under control. “Did you need a project to make you feel better about yourself? Or is it because all your bandmates have partners…you felt like you needed one and I was the hapless victim?”

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