Rose by Sydney Landon Read Free Book Online Page A

Jake.
    Clutching the knife at my side, I creep silently back down the hallway, careful not to wake Max. I don’t know what I would do if he stopped me now. I’m already anticipating the feeling of solace as the blade slices into my flesh. I’ve committed and justified it. I never change my mind when that happens.
    I shut the bedroom door and then walk straight into the bathroom. As a precaution, I tug Max’s shirt over my head, not wanting to accidentally ruin it. I’ve learned that bloodstains are almost impossible to remove. I unroll a length of tissue paper next and then find a spot on the cold, ceramic tile where I can easily spread my legs. It’s not lost on me that I approach this routine almost clinically. It’s so engrained in me that it’s as if I’m on the outside observing someone else.
    The knife feels unfamiliar in my hand as I tighten my grip on the handle. I normally use a razor or sometimes a needle. I probe my skin, looking for a location that isn’t riddled with scars. Finally, I find a relatively smooth area near the crease of my leg. The skin is thin and more sensitive there but also tends to bleed more. Perfect. It’s harder to gauge the depth in a fleshy area. I lower the tip of the blade, making a small incision. A thin line of crimson wells up, and I watch it idly, waiting to see if it will trickle down my leg.
    After what seems like forever, a small amount of blood breaks free from the cut, making a tiny downward track. I frown. There should be more blood. I need more blood. I barely feel the sting from the nick. There isn’t enough pain to quiet my racing thoughts. The blade must have been duller than I thought.
    So I move it a few inches over and go deeper this time. “Shit,” I hiss as it slices through my skin like butter. There is no waiting for the results this time. I see blood before I can even remove the knife. I can only stare, riveted by the vivid red against my pale skin. Then fear hits as I realize that I’ve cut deeper than ever before. Fuck!
    The blade clatters to the floor as I grab Max’s shirt from the floor and attempt to stop the bleeding. “No, no!” I repeatedly chant as panic seizes me. I’m dizzy, but I can’t get up to look for my bag from earlier. “Max,” I croak out, barely aware that I’m calling for him. “Max, help me!” I sob one more time, not thinking there is any way he can hear me. But then the sound of the bedroom door slamming open reaches me and there he is.
    “Rose! Fuck, what happened?” He drops to his knees and begins running his hands over me, beginning at my neck. I have no idea why he’s looking for an injury there since I’m holding a shirt to my leg.
    “I cut myself,” I wince as my injury throbs. There is nothing but the sounds of our rough breathing in the room. Then he seems to freeze. I look up and see the exact moment he spots the knife I’d tossed to the floor.
    “Why?” he murmurs quietly almost as if he’s talking to himself. I’m so tired that I’m having a hard time keeping pressure on the cut. I’m crashing the way I sometimes do after the high of cutting begins to ebb. My hand slips, pulling the T-shirt away. So much blood. Which seems to jerk him into action. He opens the cabinet behind him and grabs another towel, holding it firmly against me. In a strained voice, he asks, “Did you do this to yourself?” Before I can answer, his attention is drawn to the myriad of scars running up and down my thighs. He swallows visibly. “Oh baby, what’ve you been doing to yourself?”
    Silent tears of shame roll down my face, dripping onto my chest. This is it. The time has come. Someone else knows my secret. Confident, carefree Rose is a fraud. Her mommy and daddy pick on her and she’s too weak to handle it. I attempt to cover the evidence with my hands, not wanting him to see any more than he already has. “Don’t look,” I say huskily. “Please, Max, I’m so ugly.”
    He raises his other hand and runs