Page 55 of The Confidant

I wanted to know how it felt for Asher.

The cigar butt I found in the street burned cold. I never imagined it could be like that. The wound got infected, and I had to convince Maman I had strep throat to get me to the doctor. She never went into the room with me to verify the story.

When the older man saw the mark and looked at my face, his disappointment was clear. He never asked a single question.

Asher went through this. Except he had our biological father breathing down his neck for every appointment.

Surrounded by unfeeling, oblivious people who toss a prescription at you and move on to the next patient.

I’d never felt as alone as I did then.

I decided that if I ever had the urge to do something like this again, I would be clean about it. No witnesses and no doctors.

I’m insane, and so selfish for doing it.

One cut for every scar I found on Asher. Thank God I stopped before I did his tattoos, although I was tempted to keep going once I realized he had two more than I had cuts.

I got therapy instead of hurting myself. I’m happy about that decision, but the itch is still there. What would two more matter?

A lot in the state of my mind.

It’s one thing for someone to be scarred up through tragedy. To do it tomyselfis another story.

Oh God, Poe is going to leave.

Of course, he is. I’m the antithesis of everything he stands for. How can I look at him after this?

“Siren. No questions, remember?”

My shoulders slump in defeat at the quiet, calm sound of his voice.

No questions.

I’m suddenly slapped in the face with the advice I gave Asher. To confess his secrets, like a side note, to people close to him. I’m such a hypocrite.

But I don’t have to be.

If Asher has the balls to tell Teraanythingabout his trauma, then I should have the guts to do the same.

I wipe my eyes quickly and brace myself for whatever comes.

“You can come in.”

He walks inside casually. There’s no tension in him. He has a faint smile when he takes in my position. He sits beside me, turning slightly so he can see my face, and takes my hand.

For all the calm he’s projecting, his hand is shaking. Between the two of us, our palms vibrate against each other. His grip is tight, like I’m about to slip away.

“Have I mentioned that my dad is a piece of crap?” I don’t know any other way to start this. I want him to understand, and I don’t at the same time. As if the lead-up is going to help make me less selfish.

“No.” He softens his favorite word gently, but his fingers tighten down on mine. Hard.

I can’t look at him for this. I don’t want to watch his face turn to his blank intensity. The look he gets when he’s dissecting a person from the inside out. I didn’t think about how that would feel while I was vulnerable.

“He was abusive to one of my family members.”

He sits quietly, with no questions. I guess he has a lot of experience with this kind of thing, being in the group. I hope he doesn’t go all therapist on me before he walks out. That would definitely knock me down for the count.

“Not me. I was his favorite. Hisprincess,” the words make me want to gag. My foot starts tapping on the floor with nerves. “I was never in any danger from him. Everybody knew it even after we found out about the abuse. It kind of broke me. To know that someone was living in fear while I was just happy to be loved.”

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