Page 133 of Shamed
My eyes trail from her hands to her wrist, looking over the cuts on her arms and the fresh bandages over her marred skin.She must notice, because her body flinches like she doesn’t want me to look.
After what happened tonight, I know this program will be for the best.
Her confession from earlier hasn’t disappeared—I haven’t forgotten what she did—it’s just taken a back seat for now while we deal with this.
Filling my lungs, I give her hands a squeeze. “I’ll be waiting.”
Jayne slowly pulls her hands free and inches back. But those inches don’t just feel like physical space; she’s creating an emotional distance as well. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”
My eyes fly back up to her face. “What do you mean?”
“I only ruin lives, Mase. And I don’t want to ruin yours.”
My stomach sinks and regret immediately crawls up my throat, making it difficult to swallow. I wish I could take back everything I said to her earlier, take back the way I reacted and listen instead.
I grasp for one of her hands again, needing to keep touching her. “No, Jayne. You’ve only made my life better. I’m so fucking sorry for saying that.”
“But you were right.”
“I wasn’t. Please don’t do this.” My heart thunders, feeling like it’s trying to jump out of my chest to reach her, but she’s too far away.
“You need more than a broken shell of a woman.”
I shake my head, desperate for her to hear me. “No, don’t you see? Our broken pieces fit together, filling in all the missing parts.”
Her voice is a watery sob. “I need to make things right, Mase. With everyone. Including Jacob. And I need to do that before I work on any relationship.”
I yank her hand to my chest. “You can do all of that with me by your side. I can help you, Jayne.”
Her eyes fall shut with more tears, more pain. “No.”
That simple word stabs me right in the heart, making it bleed.
“You’re always helping others, Mase. Always putting everyone else first. Maybe it’s time for you to help yourself.”
“I don’t need to help myself.” Why isn’t she fucking listening?
I watch her throat bob as she continues poking the knife in and out. “You told me yourself, you have the need to make up for your existence. That’s not right, Mase. Maybe you need to do some soul searching to make sure all of this isn’t you overcompensating, because you don’t feel like you’re meant to be here.”
All my words vanish, the argument dying on my tongue.
Her eyes open, pools of liquid filling them. “I care about you. I do. But we need to do these things without each other.”
I stare at her, my chest still bleeding out while she does nothing to stop it.
Every breath is tight. My fingers feel numb, making it so I can’t even feel her hand between mine.
My mind latches onto another scenario, one it was refusing to acknowledge until now. “But what if . . .” I look at her gown, her arms, the bed.What if this happens again?
She must see the question written in my eyes because she shakes her head, laying her free hand on my thigh. “I’m not going to do this again. I promise.”
There’s a plea on her face for me to understand, to accept what she’s saying.
Be supportive.
I want to, but why does supporting her have to mean letting her go? Why do I want to fight against it?
Because she’s leaving me, and I’ll be alone once again.
