Page 155 of Leave Me Broken

A soft hand wraps around two of my fingers and her bright eyes look up to me, darker in the dim of the room but also because they are still dilated. I should keep an eye on that too.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I don’t want to lose my grandpa, Ash.” Fuck me and my heart.

I squeeze her fingers, but I catch some movement outside of the room. No doubt her granddad checking in. I lean down and press my mouth to her forehead. “I know, Jailbird. I don’t want you to either.”

“I can’t survive without him on earth, Ash. I’ll die.”

My stomach drops. I won’t even think about that. I told Luca my fear, and it was just like that but I will not let it become reality. I’m not losing Payson. “No, you will not. You will get through it, and I will be here to hold you together so you do. Okay?”

Her bottom lip wobbles. “Promise?”

“Always. You and me, babygirl.”

Her throat bobs. I squeeze her hand and she pulls it back under the small blanket that just barely covers all of her and would no way cover me. “Forever.”

I drop another kiss, this time to her soft lips. So inviting I’m tempted to test the weight on the cot, but that’s not what she needs right now. So I steal another kiss, then stand. “Text me when you wake.”

Paul stops me outside Payson’s room, eyeing the closed door behind me with a worried glance. “How is she?”

How do I answer that? Payson is not okay, but she hasn’t been okay the entire time I’ve known her. Reading my thoughts, he sighs and taps my arm a few times before lowering his hand. “Thank you for bringing her home.”

“Always.”

Figuring that’s the end of our conversation, I take a step toward the door.

“I hope you will take care of my granddaughter in the way she deserves, Ashley. She’s had a rough go and all I want for her is peace and happiness. Safety and consistency too.”

Peace. Happiness. Safety. Consistency. I can do that. I haven’t been focusing on those things thus far, but from this moment on I will.

Even if it kills me.

50

Payson

Cutting is easier than pills but Ash will be able to tell I’m cutting again if he ever sees my arms. Which at this point, feels like never since he refuses to touch me outside of a deep kiss when he sees me and before he leaves Grandpa’s. He can’t tell when I’m high. I think. I don’t even feel high anymore, it’s more like my body is getting used to it. It’s been a week since my grandpa came home from the hospital and he’s not gotten any better.

Seeing his health decrease daily is the reason for my pill popping. I might worry I have a problem, but I only have a few pills left before I’m out, and it’s not like I can go and get more hydrocodone just because I feel like it.

Ash is not only not touching me, but he is smothering me—again—but not in the way I want. It’s worse this time, so much worse. I wake up to numerous texts that he sends after we’ve been talking late in the night, meaning, he’s not sleeping. He stops by Grandpa’s every day, and while he doesn’t touch me, besides the quick peck on the cheek in front of Grandpa whenever he has to leave the room, he hasn’t touched me in the way I’ve craved for too long.

Probably why I eyed my razor blades for a long time this morning before taking my pill.

I’m burning with the need to cut, to breathe in the only way I know how, but I don’t want to do it myself. I want Ash to do it. It feels better when he does. The way his eyes glass over and his jaw clamps anytime I make a noise, or he assumes he’s cut too deep. It’s addicting.

“Payson.” I blink, catching Clay’s eyes. “You are bleeding.”

My eyes drop to my arms but I see nothing. “What do you mean, where?”

“Your cycle, I am assuming by the blood stain on your skirt.”

Embarrassment burns up my neck and across my face. Clay doesn’t seem bothered by it but I sure am. “Why didn’t you tell me before? Like when we were in the lunch line.” Yes, because lashing out at him makes up for the embarrassment, Payson.

“I did. You did not listen.”

I need to get out of my head. I cringe and shoot him an apologetic look. “Right, sorry.” I twist my lips, trying to decide what to do. I don’t have an extra skirt. I have my gym clothes, but I’ll get detention for not being in uniform . . . not like I have a choice. I can’t walk around in a bloody skirt all day. I need to figure out how to get to my gym locker from the lunchroom without everyone seeing. I’m guessing plenty have already, but I wasn’t aware of it then.

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