words as he twists a lock of my hair around his finger.

I peer up at him, noting the small scars on his face, and I

can’t believe how many people don’t notice. “I’m thinking that you

should tell someone about your father.”

He freezes and the strand of my hair falls from his finger.

“Callie, I can’t do that. No one will believe me.”

With my hands flat on his chest, I push up and swing my leg

over him. “Yes, they will. We just have to find the right person.”

He shakes his head as he swallows hard and stares at the

moon through the window. “I can’t.”

I put my hands on his shoulders and pin him down. “Yes, you

can… and do you know why…” I trail off because what I’m about to

say is probably the second hardest thing I’ll ever have to say. The

first being what I actually have to say to someone else. “Because

I’m going to tell someone too.”

His eyes snap to mine and he assesses my face with great

concern. “You’re going to tell someone about Caleb?”

My heart is trying to kill me from the inside as it slams

against my chest. “I am, if you will.”

It’s that simple, at least the theory in my head is. I’ll promise

to tell my family as long as he tells someone about his

father—someone who will do something about it. Although, when

it actually comes down to spilling those words out to the world, it’ll be complex, complicated, rough, hurtful, aching, painful,

shameful… I could write a list down in my notebook of everything

that it will be and there wouldn’t be enough pages.

“Callie, I think that’s good,” he encourages. “You should tell

your parents.”

“But I’m only going to if you tell someone about your dad.” I

know it’s blackmail, but it’s all I’ve got at the moment. “And you

need to tell—we need to tell.”

His eyebrows knit together. “You’d really blackmail me into

it?”

My shoulders slump inward as I slouch down, feeling like the

world’s most terrible person. “I’m only doing it because I lo—care

for you.” My eyes widen at the word that almost slipped out.

I know he notices, but he pretends he doesn’t. He stays calm

underneath me. “And what do you think will come from us telling

someone?”

Tears are forming in my eyes and one rolls down my cheek,

dripping off my jawline and falling on him. “Freedom.” I try to force the rest of the tears back, but the wall around me is crumbling

rapidly and soon I lose all control over my emotions. I start to sob, again. He’s probably going to start thinking that that’s all I do.

He pulls me down against him and I bury my face in his chest

with my hands on his shoulders. Tears veil my vision as I stare at

the wall to the side of me.

“Fine, I’ll do it… I’ll tell someone… I guess,” he says so quietly

the sounds of my tears falling almost drown it out. “But only for

you. I’m only doing it for you.”

I’m not sure I like his answer. I don’t want him to do it for

me. I want him do it for himself because I want him to know that

he’s that great of a person. One who gets the

weirdo-Goth-Satan-worshipping girl who everyone was always

afraid of. One who can break down indestructible walls. The kind

of person who can piece a person back together again.

The person I’m falling in love with.

Kayden

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. She wants us to tell

someone. Confess together. Tell our dark secrets to the world and

let everyone do what they will with them. It throws me off more

than anything I’ve ever heard until she almost says she loves me.

She stops herself quickly, like she’s afraid to say it, but it’s enough that I can tell she means it. And it’ll mean something to me. I know

that. It’s not like back when Daisy and I use to say it to each other.

It was just a word between her and me that meant nothing other

than it was part of the script. If Callie says it, then I know it means she loves me and I don’t know how to handle that. Love… Love…

Love. What the fuck does the word mean?

I don’t have a God damn clue and I don’t like how enthused

my heart got when the words just about left her lips, like it’d been

waiting around silently for that one word to fall from her lips and

jumpstart it to life again. It doesn’t matter how I feel, though. She’s told me she’ll tell if I tell and no matter how much I don’t want to

fucking tell, it’s done once she says it. Because I’d put my pain and shame out there to take hers away. I’d stab myself in the heart if it meant her life would be easier.

We lay in bed for a while, listening to the ocean crash against

the shore. There are birds cawing just outside the window and

someone is snoring out in the living room. I hold onto her while

she falls asleep, wishing this is how things would always be. That I

could just lie here with her and be at peace with myself and life.

But every nerve in my body is disturbed and adrenaline is

coursing through me more powerfully than the waves outside. I’m

itching for a razor or something sharp because I took the damn

rubber bands off my wrists. I try to pinch myself a thousand times,

and then I finally stab my fingernails into my skin. The pain and

feelings that come with it keep building like the waves outside. I

keep thinking about how I used Luke’s razor to finally shave off my

stubble and even though I wanted to, I resisted the urge to cut my

skin because I couldn’t stop thinking about kissing Callie in the

alley.

This time though, I can’t shut it off. It’s consuming me, the

need, the compulsion, the overtaking desire to get it all out of my

head and body. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I peek down at

Callie, making sure that she’s still asleep, and then I vigilantly lift my arm off her and place it beneath her head. Inching my body to

the side, I scoot out from underneath her and then gently lower

her head onto the pillow.

She incoherently mutters something as she twists to her side

and tucks her hands below her cheek. I stand there for a moment,

making sure she’ll fall back asleep and then I walk quietly across

the room to the bathroom in the corner. I flip on the light and shut

the door. Callie’s bag is sitting on the counter, and although I hate the idea of digging through it, I need a razor. The only other

alternative is to slam my fist into something and that will make

noise and I might break something.

I rummage through her bag until I come across a small

pouch at the bottom. I take it out and let out a sigh of relief as I

spot a razor in the midst of her makeup and travel-size bags of

shampoo. I take it out and run my finger along the top blade,

testing the sharpness. It looks a lot like the first one I used: pink, with a strip of something at the top. But it’s sharper, and knowing