“It’s not your fault. That woman shouldn’t have been drinking and driving. She unfortunately paid the ultimate price for it,” Ezra says soothingly. But nothing could ease the heartache I’m feeling right now.
“It could have been you. You all might have died that day and I’d have been here pretending life is all sunshine and rainbows. What the hell is wrong with me that I could be so consumed with the need to make fucking strangers happy but be so ignorant to the pain of the men I love?”
“Ainsley, look at me. None of this is on you. We made our choices and we’ve done our due diligence to be better for ourselves, for each other, and for you. Because we want to let go of the years wasted and move forward living the best lives we can. What we need to know is if you’re willing to do this crazy thing called life with us?”
I don’t know how to answer. My heart says yes, my mind, however, is playing things a little more cautiously. Instead of responding with answers I don’t have, I pull Nix’s arm to my chest, looking down as I slowly unravel the bandana he has tied to his wrist. Half of me expects him to pull away, maybe too raw after exposing the darkest parts of himself, but one quick peek up at him and the look on his face is fierce and determined. There’s self-assurance there, like he’s proud to be opening up to me in such an honest way.
Time stops for me when I see the familiar jagged raised scar tissue crossing his wrist. What steals the breath from my lungs is the tattoo, small and dead center. At first glance it looks like a sun, which is beautiful in its own right. Then if you look closer, you notice it’s made up of semicolons entirely.
Bringing his wrist to my face, I plant my lips against the tattoo and the marks that make us more kindred spirits than he even knows.
“I love this,” I whisper against his skin, wishing I could leave my own permanent mark.
“It’s meant to wipe away darkness and serve as a reminder to have hope that the future is certain, especially through the most difficult of times. I wanted something with the semicolon to symbolize my choice to keep going when I had so many opportunities to end it all, but when I saw this and the meaning behind it, I knew it was the right choice for me, even if it is a little cliche,” he says with a shy smile.
“I’m going to show you guys something that almost no one else has seen.”
Their eyes widen at my cryptic words and when I move to step away, they simultaneously hold me a little tighter for a brief second before letting me go. When I step back, I feel a little like prey being stalked in the wild with the intensity in which they stare. Heat licks up my spine, infusing fire in my veins as I realize how this is about to look.
Grabbing for the hemline of my dress, I pull gently, lifting it over my head. The silkiness of my hair tickles me when it falls back into place around my shoulders and goosebumps erupt all over my body. From their vantage point I’m sure it looks like I’m being seductive, but I really do want to share this piece of myself with them, so I force my limbs into action. Reaching behind myself, I unlatch my bra. The awareness of the show I’m giving them along with the heat in their gazes has my nipples standing at attention, silently asking to be kissed by more than just the cool breeze of my air conditioning.
Throwing my bra to the ground I turn so the guys can see the first part of my only tattoo against one side of my ribcage, then rotate so they can then see the second half of it on the other side of my ribs.
“It’s not about forcing happiness,” Phoenix reads, his voice low and shaking. Whether that’s from my near nakedness or the tattoo, I’m unsure.
“It’s about not letting sadness win,” Ezra finishes, studying the script intently “What made you get these words? Lyrics to a song, I think?”
I nod in response at first, then realize I’ve not vocalized anything to actually answer his questions. “Um, yes. They’re lyrics from the songLocal Man Ruins Everythingby—”
“The Wonder Years,” the boys cut me off, speaking in unison.
“Yeah, them. And I got the tattoo as a reminder to myself I guess. Let me show you this one last thing and you’ll probably understand it more.” I step back until I can sit down on my small coffee table and spread my legs wide, thankful I’m at least wearing hipster panties because of my dress. There’s no doubt I’m giving them quite the show.
They both fall to the floor on their knees and move in closer, each of them looking hard to see what it is I’m showing them. The lines are faint after years of being healed, along with some ointments to help reduce scarring.
“You used to cut yourself.” Ezra says, his jaw snapping shut tight, seemingly in anger, but one look into his eyes and all I see is raw devastation.
“In places no one could see you doing it.” Phoenix gulps, staring intently as he runs a finger along the silvery lines on my inner thighs. It takes everything in me not to react to his touch.
“After my mom took me out of Los Angeles, I felt more alone than ever. At first I was angry with her. She wouldn’t let me have my phone or computer. She said it was for my safety, and after time I’d convinced myself that was true. It had to be, because there was no way she didn’t hear me crying myself to sleep every night, waking to nightmares that I’d lost you guys forever. I thought I’d known what misery was after being bullied for so many years and none of that even touched how I was feeling. I was so lost without you and everything with my dad made me angry. I was hurting with no reprieve,” I say with a sigh.
“After a couple of weeks, I knew if I didn’t put you all in a mental box and lock you up tight, I wouldn’t live through it. I dulled myself down until I was entirely numb and that scared me. Feeling nothing at all is… well, you know.” I shrug, closing my eyes so I can get through this next part. “So each night, I’d take the box cutter I’d used to unpack my things and I cut and cut and cut until I could feel again. I thought it would cause me pain and when all it brought me was a sense of relief, I couldn’t stop. I was finally in control of something that was happening in my life.”
“Fuck, baby. I’m so sorry,” Ezra says, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s crying when I finally open my eyes and look at him.
“By the time my fifteenth birthday rolled around, I’d started feeling powerful in a sense. A need to take control of things overwhelmed me so I got my first job and focused on the things I could cope with, then at night I’d give myself this one thing, just a short period of time when I could grieve my loss of you and my dad, and then I’d lock you all up in the box kept at the back of my brain. Then my mom overdosed on her depression meds and everything spiraled for a while. We talked to a therapist who helped me understand that self-harm was a coping mechanism, and that’s when I started finding other outlets, like volunteering and the like. It gives me purpose—a reason to seek out happiness however I can. Sometimes that happiness isn’t for me, but in a way helping others find their bliss is more satisfying than finding my own anyway.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ainsley James Dylan
Ibarelygetthewords out of my mouth and I’m swept up in E’s arms, locked in a strange embrace. Not strange because I don’t enjoy it. There’s honestly no place I’d rather be right now. It’s odd because my upper body is enclosed in Ezra’s arms, meanwhile my lower half got pulled toward Nix. Meaning my barely covered pussy is all but smothering his face. I’m not mad at it, to be honest.
“So we meet again,” I hear him say directly into my crotch.
Awkward? Yes. Do I care? Not really.
The words are muffled but the heat of his breath coupled with the vibration from his words does something to me. Not to mention the onslaught of memories of his mouth eating me like a man with nothing to lose in the production booth yesterday.
