Chapter 4
Wren
“Riddle me this, Batman, how in the hell do you get any privacy in this one room cabin?”
Cora and I were camped out on my bed while Maniac and Wrecker were out on the porch talking about Lord knows what. “Privacy doesn’t exist for me anymore.”
“Unless you go to the bathroom.”
“And even then, if I’m in there for more than five minutes, Maniac is knocking on the door, asking if I’m okay.”
Cora’s eyes darted down to the bedspread. Her fingers picked at a loose thread, and she cleared her throat. “I guess I can see where he’s coming from, though.”
I rolled my eyes. I try to kill myself one time in the bathtub and nobody can let it go. A giggle bubbled from my lips. That was nothing I ever thought I would think.
Cora looked up at me. “Wren, I know you don’t wan—”
“Please don’t.” I lifted my hand and shook my head.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
I pushed my sleeves back and held up my wrists. “I’m sure it had to do with these.”
Cora cringed at the raised, red scars.
They weren’t pretty. They were never going to be. I was going to live with them the rest of my life. They were a reminder I wasn’t strong.
“I just want you to know I love you, and I’m always here for you.” Her eyes glazed over with unshed tears. “I should have been there for you when everything was going on with the Hell Captains.”
“You didn’t know what was going on, Cora. There wasn’t anything you could have done.” There wasn’t anything anyone could have done.
She grabbed my hand and threaded her fingers through mine. “But I could have just been there for you.”
Even being there wouldn’t have stopped Rack and the Hell Captains from being huge assholes to me. “Don’t stress over it. It’s done and over with.”
She scooted closer. “But it’s not done and over with. It was so bad, you tried to kill yourself, Wren. Thank fucking Christ Maniac got to you in time before you died.”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” I pulled my hand from her grasp and scooted to the head of the bed, farther away from her. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
Her face paled at my words. Jesus Christ. I was never going to be able to go to the bathroom without someone worrying I was going to try and off myself again. I sprinted to the tiny bathroom in the corner and slammed the door shut behind me.
I couldn’t put up with this.
My hands shook as I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. I never wanted to talk about my feelings or how Cora wished she could have been there for me.
When I said no one could have helped, I meant it.
Cora could have watched me twenty-four-seven like a hawk, and I still would have found a way to try and kill myself.
Cora and Wrecker had been here for over an hour, and I was beyond ready for them to leave. For most of the time, Cora had tried to act like everything was normal, but I could tell behind her clear green eyes, she wanted to talk.
A light knock sounded on the door.
Jesus. I hadn’t even been in here for more than two minutes and she was knocking on the door making sure that I was okay.
“We’re leaving, Wren,” she lightly called through the door. “You don’t need to come out. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She paused, and I turned to the door. I laid one hand on the pressed wood. “I just want you to know that I love you, and whenever you want to talk, you know my number.”
My heart yelled at me to open the door and tell Cora I loved her too, but I stood there. Not saying a word.
Her light footsteps padded away from the door after waiting for a response from me.
What could I say to her? She was never going to look at me the same way again. I was forever in her eyes going to be some unstable whacked-out bitch who was always trying to kill myself.
And it’s my own fault she thought that about me.
One of the pitfalls of surviving suicide was having to deal with everyone telling you how much they loved you while you looked in their eyes and saw the guilt they felt.
Surviving was becoming a burden.
I heard Maniac’s rumbly voice tell them he would see them in a few weeks, and then the front door closed.
Living in a one room cabin meant I could hear everything, no matter where I was. I quickly went to the bathroom, washed my hands, and wandered out into the kitchen.
“You okay?”
I ignored Maniac, opened the fridge, and immediately shut it. An idea of what to make for dinner popped into my head. I pulled out a pound of hamburger and a bag of tater tots from the freezer. “You good with tater tot casserole for dinner?” It was only half past four, but by the time I thawed the meat, threw the casserole together and cooked it, it would be almost six.
“Answer my question,” he rumbled.
It was a question I didn’t know the answer to anymore. Was anyone ever really okay? I grabbed a can of creamed corn. “I make mine with creamed corn. That fine?” I turned to the microwave and placed the hamburger inside. I watched the numbers flick by, waiting for it to defrost.
Maniac’s rough, tanned hand pushed the stop button on the microwave. “We’re not eating until we talk.”
Damn this man and his talking. Why couldn’t he be like your typical man who never wanted to talk? I was beginning to think that was all a myth. I turned around and was face to neck with him. The man was damn tall, and I had to tilt my head back to look at him in the face when he was this close. “Can we just skip the talk, and you just say yes or no to creamed corn.”
“Not a fucking clue what creamed corn is, but if it has to do with whatever you’re cooking, I’m sure it’ll be fucking delicious.”
He sure did have a way with words. He was also a fan of the word fucking. “Duly noted,” I mumbled. I moved to start the microwave, but he planted his hands on my hips. I looked up at him. “Don’t.”
“My hands aren’t moving from this spot until we talk.”
I rolled my eyes. “Then talk.” He could talk. It didn’t mean I had to reply. “You’re just going to say the same shit you’ve been saying. I need to snap out of it, let people in. Blah, blah, blah.”
“That is what you need to do, darlin’.”
“It’s not that easy.”
His hands slid up my sides, and he stepped closer. “Never said this shit was going to be easy.”
“Then stop acting like it is, and take your hands off of me.”
He squeezed gently, but then backed away. “I’m gonna push you. When I know you have more to give, I’m gonna make you give it to me.”
I moved back and bumped into the counter. “Then why did you just let me go?” Not that I wasn’t grateful he had let me go. It was just the way this conversation was going, I didn’t expect him to back down.
“Because I know when you’ve had enough.”
“You don’t know me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I know you more than you think I do.”
“You know nothing about me.” No one knew anything about me. Even the things Cora thought she knew about me were just what was on the surface.
“You really wanna argue about this? I backed away from you, and you’re pissed about that now?”
I wasn’t pissed he had backed down. I was pissed this man who had only known me for a handful of weeks thought he knew about me. “Can we just go back to a couple of weeks ago where we didn’t talk? That worked much better for me.”
He shook his head. “That’s when I learned the most about you, darlin’.” He strutted over to the couch and flopped down on it. “Make your creamed corn shit. I’ll eat anything you make.”
I blinked slowly and looked around. What had just happened? “I thought we were going to talk?”
He stretched out on the couch and put his arms behind his head. “We were going to, but I think you need time to think about everything I already said.”
“Not necessary.”
“I think it is.”
“No, it’s no—”
“Wren, you gotta argue about everything with me? I’m letting you off the hook so you can stew for a bit.”
I turned around and smashed the button to turn on the microwave. “I’m not stewing.” I crossed my arms over my chest and watched the meat spin around.
“Call it whatever you want, but I know you need to time to process shit. I like to call it stewing, but I’ll call it whatever you want just so you stop arguing with me.” He turned the volume up on the TV, ending our conversation. Or arguing.
So I was supposed to stew, huh? I’d show that man stewing.
I grabbed a casserole dish from the cabinet and dumped the bag of tots in the bottom. I was half-tempted to poison dinner because I knew he would eat whatever I put in front of him. My stomach rumbled, squashing that idea. If I poisoned it, I wouldn’t be able to eat it, and tater tot casserole was one of my favorites. He was lucking out this time while I stewed.
*