Page 315 of Off Limits: The Firsts

But it’s been forever since I’ve felt this way.

Clutching the comforter tighter around me with one hand, I reach over and turn on the light on my nightstand. I don’t like the dark.

The boogey man lives in the dark.

So does my dad.

Trying to settle the anxiety rattling around inside me as sure as the blood flowing through my veins, I stare out the window to the airfield beyond. To the yellow and red and green lights and pretend they are the lights on a Christmas tree. Something. Anything.

My fingertips run absently over the scars on the inside of my upper arms.

Over.

And.

Over.

And.

Over.

It’s the only thing I can do to process the dream I can’t remember and the nightmare I lived through.

Staring at the box cutter in my hand, I ignore the contents of the open box in front of me. Its weight is as comforting as it is torturous.

My sleep-deprived mind drifts off and begs me to give into a need I haven’t had in years.

Cut.

Feel the pain my mind has closed out.

Cut.

Take the blame I don’t deserve.

The blade calls to me.

My skin begs to be scored.

To bleed out the guilt.

Cut.

My fingers itch to do it.

“You have a visitor, Em,” Leo calls from the front of the office, making me drop the knife from trembling fingers. A quick glance at the clock tells me I’ve been standing here in La-la Land for way longer than I should have been.

“Okay,” I say, but before the word is even out, Grant is standing in the doorway, looking like my own personal Heaven and Hell—a reprieve from the thoughts that have stolen my focus all day and the reason I think I had those thoughts. His smile is genuine, and I hate that every part of me craves to walk straight up to him and wrap my arms around him.

Comfort.

Distraction.

The need to feel anything other than what I’m feeling right now.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” I infuse confidence into my voice when really I’m scared shitless over these emotions I’m not used to having.