Page 106 of Leave Me Broken

Two hold clothes I outgrew. I pull out the school and sport related stuff and shove the rest back into the closet.

Ash strides into the room to find me kneeling on the floor in front of a box I think he is really going to enjoy looking at. “Everything okay?”

“Yep, look what I found.”

“Your dresser is halfway across the room, Pay.” His voice is weary.

“I told you it fell. Now, look.” I hold up the old poster of him. He doesn’t seem convinced but he tugs up his pants from the floor and sits next to me.

“You really were obsessed, Jailbird.” He snatches the photo from my hands. “That is a great photo of me, though.”

I nudge him and dig for something else.

We go through the whole box. I think he liked reading the old articles the most. He even spent a while talking about different moments based around the times of the magazines, and it was nice to hear things from his perspective and not just what I read about.

He reaches into the box and pulls out something I never thought I would see again. “I thought you didn’t—”

I grab it from him and jump to my feet. “I didn’t. How did this . . .” This doesn’t make sense. Fred stole this from me. Said he got tired of seeing me in another man’s clothing. I pull it to my face and suck in a deep breath. It doesn’t smell how it used to, more like laundry soap but it doesn’t matter because I thought for sure I would never see it again. “I can’t believe it,” I mutter mostly to myself.

Ash wraps his arms around my waist. “I’m glad you found it, baby.” He kisses the side of my head and nuzzles into my neck. “Should we see if it still fits?”

Ash struggles—a lot—to get the white jersey on, but eventually it’s covering his upper body . . . mostly. It’s a tank top style but his arms are way bigger than they used to be. I told him if he rips it, I’ll never forgive him so he was careful putting it on but now that it’s on, he can’t lower his arms. The hem doesn’t even reach his belly button, and I can’t help but laugh. It looks like a toddler’s shirt on him. I laugh harder. Like doubled over and holding my stomach from laughing so hard.

I think it’s these moments—seeing Ash squeeze into the jersey of his that I treasured for years before knowing him—that confuses my head with reality. It doesn’t feel real.

“Just help me get it off before I rip through it like the Hulk.”

I’m still giggling when I tug it over his head. But at least it smells more like him again. “I used to sleep in this every night.”

“Well, now you can again.”

Yes, I can. I’m still confused how it ended up back in the box but I’m not going to question it. I’m just happy it did.

Ash is making trips to his car with my stuff while I make the last few rounds around my room. I take a quick look under Jason’s bed in case there is something he might want.

My eyes catch on something silver. Squinting, I reach farther, wrapping my hands around the cold metal; I know exactly what it is. I stare at the pocketknife in my hand. I flip it over because there is no possible way this can be the same knife. But it is. It has Jason’s initials. My heart speeds up as I push my sleeves and look down at my bare arms and the fresh cuts from earlier this week. It’s been a long time since I’ve cut with this knife specifically, but I remember how dull it was. How it left jagged cuts and not clean ones like the sharp razor blades I use now. I want to smile realizing how far I’ve come. I don’t shake when I cut, my breathing doesn’t alter. I feel nothing.

“What is that?” I jump at the booming of Ash’s voice behind me. I know it’s too late to hide the knife or my cuts when I look up and see his tight jaw. He bends down and grabs the knife from me. “What the fuck are you doing, Payson?”

“Those cuts aren’t new. I just found the knife and was . . .”

“What? Reminiscing?”

I roll my lips into my mouth because that’s exactly what I was doing. I will not tell him that, though. Look how much better I am at cutting myself now! Aren’t you proud of me, baby? Yeah. No, that conversation would not go over well with Ash.

“Fuck. Fuck, Payson. Just . . . Fuck.” Ash grips his hair. I scramble to my feet and throw my arms around his large, warm body.

“I’m sorry. I-I know I’m fucked up.”

His chest caves with a deep sign. He turns in my arms and hugs me back. “You are. But we are going to heal together. Okay?”

Together. Together . . .

I roll my lips between my teeth and nod.

“What are you thinking, Jailbird?”

“Nothing. Never mind.” What the hell am I thinking?

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