Callie has taken ahold of Seth’s arm, but I can’t tell who’s

holding onto whom. Luke is already reaching for his cigarettes and

pops one into his mouth. We walk up to the end of the line and

Luke flicks the lighter and the paper burns. People are talking,

laughing, having fun, but the inside of my head is twisting.

She doesn’t know me.

She really doesn’t.

And that’s because I won’t let her.

Suddenly I feel like an asshole. I owe her an explanation for

why she found me bleeding out on the floor.

I’m stuck in my own head as the line moves forward and we

walk inside the building. Luke found an eighteen-and-over club so

we don’t need fake IDs to get in. As soon as we step over the

door’s threshold, the atmosphere becomes suffocating. There are

too many damn people crammed tightly into the small room. The

air is stifling, but luckily there’s no smoking allowed. The music is deafening and the floor is vibrating from it. I’ve never minded

these kinds of places before, but suddenly I’m feeling a little

claustrophobic. I think Callie is too, because she’s clinging onto the back of Seth’s jacket like her life depends on it as he walks in front of her, shoving through the crowd. Luke’s disappears into the mob

completely.

Someone stumbles back from the bar and spills beer all over

the floor next to Callie’s feet. As she jumps out of the way, her

fingers lose hold of Seth and she reaches for him. But the people

are closing in and I can tell she’s trying not to panic.

I take a few long strides and grab hold of her waist. Her body

goes rigid, but I quickly kiss her head and whisper, “Relax, it’s me.”

She nods at the sound of my voice and her shoulders

unravel. I inch closer to her until my chest is pressed against the

back of her head, and then I circle my arms around her waist and

pull her securely against me as I maneuver us through the crowd. I

make sure to keep my elbows out so no one can get close enough

to touch her and when we finally break out of the crowd and into

the table section we both take a deep breath.

My arms relax around her, but I don’t let her go as we walk

to the corner table where Luke and Seth are sitting. I let go of her

only to pull a chair out for her and she gives me a tentative smile

as she sits down. I round to the other side of the table and take a

seat myself, wishing I wasn’t here.

“God, it’s fucking crazy in here,” Luke says, ruffling his hair as

he glances around at the bar, the crowd near the door, and the

dance floor over in the corner. “And hot.”

Seth nods in agreement as he reaches for his cigarettes that

are in his front pocket. But then his face sinks and he gazes at the

tables around us. “Wait a minute. There’s no smoking in here, is

there?”

Luke shakes his head as he leans back into the chair and his

muscles flex as he crosses his arms. “No… It’s going to fucking kill

me.”

“I think it’s the cigarettes that are going to kill you,” Callie

jokes nervously as her eyes flick to the dance floor.

Luke shoots her a death glare, but then shakes his head and

grins. “Well, if I can’t smoke than I’m at least going to drink.” He

pushes the chair away from the table and rises to his feet. “What’s

everyone’s poison?”

“The least potent thing that exists,” Callie says, wringing her

hands on her lap and picking at her nails. She’s anxious and I want

to know why. Is it because of me, or is it something else?

Seth takes out his phone and starts pushing at buttons. “I

haven’t talked to Greyson since yesterday.” He sighs. “I think he

might be upset with me.”

Callie rests her arms on top of the table. “Why?”

Seth shrugs as he slides his fingers across the screen of his

phone. “Because I might have said something mean about our

relationship.”

“Like what?” Callie asks.

“Like I wanted a break.” He sets the phone down and sighs as

Callie frowns at him. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t mean it. I was tired and overthinking things and I didn’t mean it.”

Callie runs her hand across the top of the table, sweeping

some salt that’s on it onto the floor. “Did you tell him that?”

“Not yet,” he says. “But I’m working up to an apology.”

“Seth.” She extends her hand across the table and touches

his arm. “Since when do you hold things in? You should never do

that. It’s not healthy.”

He shrugs, glances at me, and then grabs onto Callie’s arm.

“Come with me for a minute,” he says, getting up from the table

and pulling her to her feet.

Nodding, she follows him without looking back at me. All I

hear are their words echoing in my head. Never hold anything in.

It’s unhealthy.

If that’s true then I’m the unhealthiest person alive. I feel it

rushing up inside me. What I am. What I feel. My life and the

emptiness that will always own me. If it doesn’t then I have to feel

the past years of my life. I can’t even think straight as feelings

overtake me and I push to my feet. Rushing across the room, I

head back to the bathroom and shove the door open. There are a

few guys in there, so I go into one of the stalls and lock myself in.

Pressing my hands against my face, I take deep breaths and then

slide my fingers down to my wrists, snapping the rubber band. I do

it over and over again until my wrist has a large red welt on it, but it still doesn’t feel better.

I need something—anything—to make it go away. I search

the stall looking for anything sharp, like the edge of the metal

toilet paper dispenser. It’s a desperate move, one that might lead

to tetanus. I’m not sure if I can do it. As I move my wrist toward it, I catch sight of the buckle on one of the leather bands on my wrist.

Viewing it as better alternative, I place my other wrist above it and then drag it down, pushing hard. The skin splits open and the pain

erupts up my arm. As the blood pools out, a calm blankets the

inside of my heart.

I sit down on the toilet and let it bleed out onto the floor,

splattering red on the tile near my feet. I let my hands fall into my head, feeling ashamed yet gratified and wondering how the fuck I

got to this place and how I became this person.

I can track the compulsion back to when I was about twelve.

It was right after my team had lost a baseball game, due to the fact

that I’d struck out every time I was at bat. Part of me had done it

on purpose out of spite because I knew it would make my dad

angry. And even though it hurt, every time he got angry he was

hurting too, on the inside.