Page 225 of Rock Me All Night
A tear forms in my eye. He's playing loud enough he won't hear, so I do nothing to hold it back. It rolls down my cheek and off my chin.
My eyes sting. I choke back a sob. I pull the blanket over my head to cover the sound. I pinch the skin on the inside of my forearm. I'm not supposed to do anything like that—it's two steps away from cutting—but I need some filter for my feelings before they consume me.
The music stops.
"Kara." Drew's voice is soft and sweet. He pulls the blanket off and runs his fingertips over my shoulder. "I know you usually start with 'I'm fine,' but this time you've got no chance of selling that."
A laugh breaks up the tension in my chest. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking about that night."
"We never talk about it." He lies behind me.
"I know." I relax into Drew's body. "You're the only person who's ever seen me cry."
"You're the only person who's ever heard me sing."
"That can't be true," I say.
"It is. And I can't hit the notes James Taylor can. Not anymore." He holds me closer. "You must have cried in front of someone else."
"Not that I can remember." I wipe a tear from my eyes. "My parents, even before my dad was diagnosed, they were so happy when I was happy. And after he was gone, my mom fell apart. There were months when she spent the entire night on the couch with a bowl of melting ice cream in her lap. And she'd look at me with these dead eyes and tell me how lucky she was to have such a strong daughter."
"Kara."
"It was like she wasn't there anymore. I tried to get her to eat, but she refused. I tried to get her to leave the house, but she wouldn't even get dressed. It was sweet, almost, how empty she was without my dad. But it left me without a mom, more or less."
Another tear rolls down my cheek. That was when my cutting got really bad.
I know it doesn't make sense. But it was like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I was desperate for any kind of release I could find. The pain in my body was like an outlet for the ache in my heart. It made me feel alive. It made me feel in control. It made me feel okay, like I could survive going back to being the girl who kept everyone happy.
It was the only way I could deal with my feelings. Mom needed me to take care of her and there was no one to pick up the slack.
The only time she was happy was when I did well.
When I came home with straight A's.
When I made it onto the varsity dance squad.
When I got into UCLA.
My experiments started with my wrists, but those marks were too visible. So I cut my thighs instead. I couldn't wear shorts or go swimming, and I had to be careful to make sure my skirts fell below mid-thigh, but, otherwise, no one asked questions.
No one stared at me with that concern in their eyes the way they did after Dad died.
Drew wipes a tear from my eyes. "Hey."
"Hey."
"I should have been there," he says.
"We'd already grown apart."
"Still." He slides his arm around my waist. "You deserved better than going through that alone."
My eyelids drift together and I soak in the feeling of Drew's body wrapped around mine. It's perfect—calming and exciting all at once.
I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry about what happened. It wasn't your fault. It was me."
He doesn't say anything, but he squeezes me tighter.
"You know, I always hoped I'd find you on my bed, playing guitar. That was the last time in so long that I really felt okay."
Drew holds me tighter. I close my eyes and block out everything except the feeling of his body next to mine.
