Twenty-Two

Jasper

The bathroom mirror is so thick with fog, I can barely make out my face. If I could see inside my own head, I imagine that’s what it’d look like—a ton of confusion and a lot of worry. No matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about Winnie. She never did say why she’d picked the tube slide of all places to take a nap. It kills me that she didn’t come here and that I had to leave her in that shitty trailer. That place isn’t home. It never will be. Not as long as Tess is controlling her life while not caring about her own.

“Screw this,” I mumble and then spit into the sink. I rinse the toothpaste off my brush and shove it back in the cup on the counter.

I’m not going to bed tonight. There’s no way I can fall asleep when she’s probably wide awake and scared, waiting for the next bad thing to happen.

My pajama bottoms have only been on for a couple of minutes, but I strip them off and kick them toward the closet in the hallway. I grab my jeans out of the clean wash basket that never made it into my room and start looking for my keys. Last I remember, they were on my desk.

The door to my bedroom is half-open, and when I push it open, I stop moving. We don’t have a cat or a dog, and I blink a couple of times until my eyes adjust to the darkness. When they do, I figure out the lump on the floor is a person. Passed out on the floor with her legs curled into her chest and her hands clasped under her chin, Winnie looks like she’s freezing. She’s barely dressed, and what little she does have on is dirty. Her usually smooth and soft hair is full of knots and tangles. The blanket next to her has leaves stuck to it, and from the looks of it, there are maybe even some bugs.

My instinct is to wake her up and ask her a million questions, like what happened and how the hell she got in my bedroom without me knowing. I wasn’t in the shower that long.

It doesn’t really matter though. All I care about is that she finally came to me. Maybe Winnie trusts me more than I thought she did.

As carefully as I can, I lean over her and pull the blanket and sheet back on the bed, wishing my mom had chosen any day but today to make the bed. Winnie makes a little purring sound when I slide my arms underneath her legs and back and pick her up. She curls against my chest, and I debate on standing here all night long, holding her, instead of laying her down.

With her cradled in my arms, I’m reminded of how tiny she is and how little she weighs. I’m scared she hasn’t eaten anything tonight and that she passed out again, so I lay her in the bed and push the hair out of her eyes. Then, I slide my jeans off and climb into the bed next to her, wearing only my boxers. My body weight makes the bed dip, and she rolls toward me. Her leg’s in a weird spot, so I pick it up and hook it over my thigh. I’m rubbing little circles over her skin when her eyelashes flutter. They open wide enough that I stop moving my hand and wait for her to smack me. But she lifts her head and looks around like she forgot where she lay down.

“It’s okay, Winnie. Go back to sleep. I moved you into the bed.”

“You’re not mad?” she asks. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Not even a little. I’m glad I forgot to lock the window before I jumped into the shower.”

She swallows and bites her lip. Then, she says, “I climbed the ladder and came through the window.”

Her arms are so frail, and she’s been so weak from passing out, yet Winnie climbed two stories into an old house with a shitty roof to get to me. I don’t know whether to congratulate her or yell at her.

“You’re lucky you didn’t fall and break your neck.”

“Shit,” she says in a rush. “It’ll come out. I’m sorry.”

I don’t know what she’s apologizing for, but she’s scrambling out of bed, running away from me instead of cuddling like we were. She carefully turns the doorknob and inches it open.

“Where are you going? Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Can I have a Band-Aid and some water?”

“Yeah, I’ll grab a bottle from the kitchen. There’s a box of bandages under the sink in the bathroom. Give me a minute.”

“Bring a rag with some soap on it, too,” she tells me.

When I get back, she’s sitting on the carpet with her back against the side of the bed. I hand her everything she asked for and then flip the switch on the desk lamp. We both squint a little, and then I get a better look at her. She’s dabbing the rag on her thigh and then presses it down. She sucks in a breath, and the air whistles through her teeth as she closes her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

“I look worse than I am. It’s nothing.”

It’s something. Because, when she lifts the rag, it’s pink. The pattern on her leg is intentional. There’s no way the ladder left a mark like that, and it makes me so mad that she hurt herself again. I turn around and press my palms into my eyes, wishing I could make her stop hurting herself. But there’s no way the cuts can be unseen. I knew about the scars; I just never saw them freshly broken open.

“Why this time?” I ask her.

“I’m fine, Jasper. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is.”

She scolds me like it’s wrong for me to care that she’s a cutter. That only pisses me off more. This is a big deal. It’s a huge deal that she has a better relationship with a razor than she has with another human being.

“You made me leave you in the trailer, Winnie. You said you were okay.”

“Trey showed up. Things got complicated, and I ran into the bathroom.”

“So, every time life gets hard, you cut instead of trying to make sense of it? You can’t keep burying the pain. One of these days, you’ll have to face it and do something about it.”

The box of Band-Aids flies out of her hand and bounces off my bare chest. Little pieces of paper flutter to the ground like those brown helicopters that fall from the maple tree in the backyard.

“Don’t judge me, Jasper. That’s not your job.”

“What’s my job then? To watch you hurt yourself? Because I don’t think I want that title.”

My response stuns her, and she stands up.

“I didn’t realize how you felt,” she whispers. “I’ll leave.”

As mad as I am, I don’t want her to leave. I want her here with me, in one piece, with a smile on her face instead of angry marks on her skin. But that’s not Winnie. From day one, I knew she had a dark past. I wasn’t sure what she was dealing with, and there’s still a ton I don’t know, but from what I’ve seen, it’s amazing she’s still functioning at all. Most girls her age and in her shoes would have given up. God, I don’t want Winnie to give up.

I grab her elbow and pull her against my chest. Her arms stay by her sides, like she wants nothing to do with me. I wrap her in mine anyway and make her listen.

“Nobody is ever going to be okay with you marking up your body, Winnie.”

She lets out a little laugh and pulls away from me. I try to grab her again, but she’s moving toward the window. “You don’t get it,” she says. “Nobody cares, Jasper. I don’t have a loving home with a mom and dad who look out for me. There’s nobody telling me to do my homework or when to go to bed. When I go out, Tess doesn’t care if I ever come back.”

“I care, Winnie. I care so much, it hurts.”

“Don’t say that,” she whispers. “You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“I can say whatever I want.”

A couple of shuffled steps, and I’m standing in front of her again. She doesn’t flinch when I hold her hand, just keeps staring straight ahead at the bed.

“You make me happy. But when I see you passed out on the floor or cleaning cuts on your body, I feel like I don’t know you at all. There’s so much you’re hiding from me. It’s scary.”

“That’s why I need to leave, Jasper. I’m no good for you. The sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be.”

Her hands are on the window, and she’s seconds from pushing it open and climbing onto the roof.

“I’d rather see you like this than never see you at all. Please, stay. I need you, Winnie.”

She sniffles and then swipes at her nose with the back of her hand. If my honesty doesn’t help, I don’t know what else to do. I’ve told her I need her. I’ve told her that I want her to stay. There’s only one more thing I can say to convince her, and it’ll probably do more damage than good.

When the time’s right, I’ll tell her.

For now, I just say, “Please,” one more time.

“Trey lied to me,” she says. “Then, Jax was sitting on the porch. It was either come here or go back to the playground, and I thought you’d get mad if I did that.”

“I’d have been furious. Finish cleaning up your leg, and then get back in bed.”

Tough love isn’t going to work with Winnie. Neither will staying mad at her. She confuses anger with rejection because that’s all she knows. I’ll never accept the cutting, but I’ll never shut her out because of it. I’m screwed, and I have no idea what to do about any of it.

My stomach can’t handle it. I want to throw up, just watching her clean the cuts. I can’t imagine how she goes through with slicing her skin and seeing herself bleed.

I’ve never been neglected, abused, or beaten. I’ve never starved to the point of passing out, and that’s all the more reason why I have to figure out how to help her. This version of Winnie hurts too much. She’s worth so much more than the hand she’s been dealt.

Once she’s fixed up, she slips one of my T-shirts over her head and slides under the covers. I want to hold her and kiss her and tell her that she’s mine, but I don’t move. I’m too afraid she’ll change her mind and try to climb down the side of the house again.

A few uncomfortable minutes later, she clears her throat and then rolls onto her side. “Jasper?”

I’m still staring at the ceiling at an old water mark from when the roof leaked. Mom had it fixed, but we never got around to painting over the brown crud that was left behind. It looks a little like how I’m feeling—pathetic, worn out, distracted.

Man up, Jasper. You have a girl in your bed.

“Yeah, Winnie?” The pitch of my voice is too high, and I barely recognize the sound. I’m so nervous.

If she notices, she doesn’t mention it. All she says is, “I’m sorry I’m so messed up.”

The fog lifts, and I roll onto my side. We lie face-to-face on fluffy pillows, our mouths inches apart. I think I had a dream like this before.

“Don’t apologize. You’re you. I want you, Winnie. I’ve joked about it, but I mean it.”

“You’ll take that back once you hear everything,” she whispers.

“Tell me, Winnie. Get it all out. I’ll still be here when you’re finished. I promise.”

Her eyes roam over my lips and linger there long enough that I think she might be thinking about kissing me. She blinks a couple of times, and I’m scared she’s going to drift off and get lost inside her head again. But she looks up at me, and I know I have her right here, in the moment with me.

“When I’m awake, I want to cut. When I’m asleep, I have nightmares. It’s like my body can’t figure out how to exist without pain. It’s easier to give in to what my mind’s telling me than to convince myself I’m better off without it.”

“What about the scars? Don’t they bother you?”

She swallows and shakes her head. “Yes, and no. As long as they’re there, I’m alive. I’m still fighting. I know scars don’t ever disappear—that’s why they’re called scars—but sometimes, I think I cut them back open, so they can’t go anywhere. I’m as attached to them as they are to me.”

Her hand shakes when she runs it through her hair. A nail gets caught on a tangle, and she works it through the best she can, wincing from the pulling.

“Do you cut any other places? Or always there?”

“Always there. I’ve thought about my wrists.”

“Winnie, no.”

Before I can say anything else, she places her hand over my mouth and silences me. “I wouldn’t, Jasper. I can’t. I’m not ready to leave.”

Leave. She says it like she’d be walking through a door and not ending her existence.

I’ve never gotten the impression that Winnie is suicidal. Despite all the warning signs and red flags, I don’t believe she wants to stop breathing. Or maybe I want her to be alive so bad, I can’t imagine her giving up. She has too much fight left in her to slit her wrists and bleed out.

“I wish I could tell you to stop, and you’d listen to me. But I know it’s not that easy.”

“Cutting’s the only release that gives my body a break. I know that sounds ridiculous. Like, how can hurting myself do any good? But it just does. Once the marks are on my skin and I see the blood, I can catch my breath. The world isn’t closing in on me, and all the pressure’s gone. I’m proud that I’m in control again.”

“If you’re proud, then why do you always cover up the scars?”

“Because they’re a reminder of the pain. And everything that happened to make me cut in the first place. You and Trey are the only two people who have ever seen them.”

“What does Trey say about it?”

The guy might make me uneasy, and I don’t think he’s the best person for Winnie to latch on to, but if he’s all she has, there’s not much I can do about that either. Trey’s not going anywhere. The sooner I accept that, the easier it’ll be when he comes around to see her.

“He’s the one who found me tonight.”

She tells me about the nightmare and how Trey poured water over her to wake her up. That part makes me a little mad, but it explains her hair and the lack of clothing. What I don’t understand is how she ended up in my house if he was in hers. Why wouldn’t he get her out of there and take her someplace else?

I don’t press her though. When she’s ready, she’ll tell me everything. I’m thankful she’s said this much, considering she almost walked out on me.

Her lashes flutter closed, and she fights to pry them back open. She’s exhausted.

“It’s okay, Winnie. Get some sleep.”

She inches her fingers toward mine, her silent way of asking me to hold her hand. I do better than that. I hold every inch of Winnie and pull her as close to me as I can get her. Her cheek rests against my bare chest, and though she’s still cold, her body finally relaxes once it’s next to mine.

“I’ve never been this close to anyone, Jasper. It scares me.”

“Don’t be scared,” I tell her. “I’ll keep you safe. Me and you against the world.”

“Me and you,” she whispers.

When her grip loosens, I know she’s asleep. I doze off a few minutes later with my girl in my arms and no idea of how to protect her once the sun rises. If it were up to me, I’d keep her here forever.