Page 26 of Creatures Like Us
“I don’t know! I don’t know what you’ll do. You’ve already drugged me once with that sandwich. Who knows what fucked-up shit you’re capable of?”
“That was only for necessity,” I mumble. “To get you to stay.”
“But I don’twantto stay.”
“It’s for your own—”
“My own good,” Asher snaps. “Yes, you’ve said that about a hundred times already, you psycho.”
My jaw ticks. I don’t want to end this conversation in this manner, but I can’t figure out how to resolve it without escalation. Asher is too unstable from his withdrawal. The cravings are making him irrational.
I was just trying to show him that he doesn’t really want to die, but it doesn’t seem like the message came through. Instead, I just made him afraid of me—moreafraid of me.
I heave myself away from him and tuck the knife into my belt. “I’ll bring you some clothes. After that, you should sleep.”
“I can’t sleep,” Asher says, voice small and shaky again. “I can’t do anything.”
As I walk upstairs, I hear him crying behind me. Heaving, hulking sobs. Crying like he’s hurting. LikeIhurt him.
I wish nothing more than to make things right between us, but maybe it’s already too late. Maybe that moment in the bath is the first and last connection we’ll ever have. If so, what point is there for me to go on? What point is there to keep him here, if he’ll never bring me anything but pain?
Kill yourself for all I care.
I know he said it in the heat of the moment, but part of him might’ve truly meant it, and if so, he’s not much different from my middle school bullies. I really wanted things to work out between us. I really hoped that eventually, he’d want to stay by choice, but that foolish wish of mine is slipping further away with every passing second.
Letting Asher go means letting go of any and all hope. It means letting go of everything, and I’m not quite ready to do that just yet.
Something happened between us in the bath, and if it can happen once, it can happen again. If I could only feel like that again—that minuscule sliver of understanding, like a missing puzzle piece clicking into place—all my pain would be worth it.
Chapter 9
Asher
So…thatbackfiredto epic proportions.
I already knew Noah was fully capable of doing some fucked-up shit to me, but I didn’t expect him to charge at me like that with a knife to my throat, eyes black and devoid of emotion, lacking the barest sense of humanity.
Fuck, it scared me. My heart rate is still recovering in the aftermath.
A few minutes later, Noah comes back with a new set of clothes: a long-sleeved black shirt, black boxer briefs, and worn jeans. If he hadn’t just done what he did, I would have teased him about his all-black, emo wardrobe, but instead, I shut down. I hold my hand out for him to uncuff me, all in silence, as he helps me get the shirt on. It smells like him. The pants do too.
I don’t want to talk to him, and he seems to get the hint, leaving me alone to stew in my sullen thoughts. Again and again, I relive the moment when he had me at knifepoint.
He called my bluff, whether he intended to or not. It’s not just the pain I’m averse to; it’s dying. It scares me too much. I’m too much of a coward, I guess, so I cling to life, even though I have nothing much to live for. I have the drugs, but Noah stole them from me, so now I have nothing.
I’ve already cried like a baby, but the tears keep coming until I feel like an empty shell. I scratch at my wrists, wanting to hurt myself, longing for the razor blades I used to scratch my skin with as a young teenager, before I found the drugs. I lacked the fortitude to become a full-time cutter; I hate pain, remember? But without anything else, it’s my only option to soothe myself.
I scratch harder, breaking skin. Noah wants me to feel better, to take care of me, but what is he going to say when he finds me here all bloody, huh? I scratch myself for a while longer, but the pain quickly becomes too much.
I lie in a fetal position instead, rolling myself into a miserable ball.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair of him to do this to me. I don’t deserve this?…?Fuck, I don’t deserve this?…?Tears blurring my eyes, I try to rip the chains off the ceiling, pulling so hard my wrist burns. I grab the chain with my other hand and pull again, until the wall is creaking. That damn wall will collapse before I manage to rip the chain off the hanger.
I’m stupidly loud while I do this, but I don’t care. Noah can come and hold a knife to my throat again to get me to stop. I don’t have the brainpower to do anything more calculated right now, anyway. I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams, painfully aware of all I am missing.
My freedom. The drugs. Mostly the drugs.
I’d like something to occupy myself with, other than the boring books Noah brought me. Maybe some video games. Some music. I’d like to be rid of this annoying handcuff, that’s for sure.
