Unraveled (15 page)

“You
couldn't have known, Tate. They always treated me well in front of you. It
wasn't your fault,” I insist as I squeeze his hand.

He looks
away from me, his jaw clenched as he struggles with everything I've told him.

“You
couldn't fix what you weren't aware of. I'm the one who didn't say anything.”

“Why didn't
you?” he asks as he turns back to face me intently, his eyes accusing. “Did you
think I wouldn't help you?”

“It wasn't
like that. I told the school counselor at one point but she didn't believe me—”

“You thought
I wouldn't
believe
you?”

“I was
thirteen when it all started. I didn't really know what to think,” I say
quietly.

Tate curses
under his breath. “I should have come to visit, maybe than you would have
confided in me. I shouldn't have let my feelings for them get in the way of
checking up on you.”

“Tate, it's in
the past. I'm fine, no one's hurting me now. Let's just put it behind us.”

“No one's
hurting you?” he asks incredulously, his eyes burning into mine. “You're still
hurting, Blayre.
You
hurt yourself. Is that why you cut? Because of
them?”

My eyes drop
to our clasped hands. “I... It's what I'm used to,” I say with difficulty as
uncomfortable emotions rise within. “It just...feels right to do it when I'm
upset. I feel better,” I whisper.

“It feels
right?
There is nothing right about it!” Tate says in a fierce voice.

His tone has
me abruptly releasing his hand and rising to my feet. I can still hear the
disgust in his voice and it makes me feel ashamed as something inside me
withers away. This is what I'd been afraid of if he ever found out.

“Don't you
dare run off.”

My shoulders
cave in and I walk over to the window to stare outside for a long moment.
Walking away is impossible because I know he'll follow me. Finally, I turn back
to see that he's still sitting on the couch, his eyes on me. “I don't like the way
you...say it. Your tone.”

He looks at
me questioningly.

“You make it
sound disgusting, like I'm sick or something. I'm not sick!”

Tate runs a
hand wearily over his face before he rises to his feet and walks over, his eyes
strained and tight at the corners. “I'm not going to make it all right for you.
I don't know what Noah's been doing with all this information but this is
serious, Blayre. I'm not going to look away and pretend I don't know what
you're doing to yourself.”

“It's just
the way I cope. I can handle it,” I insist, but even I can hear the hollowness
in that lie. The sad thing is, I can't handle it and I'm aware of it. But I
refuse to get help, not the kind of help Noah wants me to get.

“If you
could handle what's going on, you wouldn't resort to cutting.” Tate looks at me
hesitantly. “Do you do it to...? Are you thinking of...?” his voice trails off
and he looks away as he struggles with his question.

It dawns on
me what he's asking and my eyes widen. “Are you asking me if I'm
suicidal?
”

“Yes, I am,”
he says as he looks back at me, his eyes searching mine.

“NO!! I'm
not trying to end my life or anything. I just want to feel better, there's a
world of difference in what I am doing compared to someone who doesn't want to
live.”

“I had to
ask, Blayre.”

“Yeah, I get
it,” I mutter as I turn from him and look back out the window. I couldn't wait
for this conversation to end.

“You need
help,” Tate says simply.

My shoulders
tense and I turn around to glare at him. “I'm in full control of it. I don't
need help because I am not suicidal. I can figure it out on my own without
going to rehab or seeing some stupid psychiatrist!!” I shout.

Tate stares
at me and then his gaze turns knowing. “Noah's been pushing you to get help. I
should have known he wouldn't brush this under the rug.”

“Just
because you guys want it doesn't mean I want it. I'm eighteen,” I point out
stubbornly as I cross my arms over my chest.

“Yes, you
are eighteen but you are dealing with some serious issues, Blayre,” he says
softly. “I wasn't there for you when you needed me but I am here now. We'll get
through this together.”

“I don't
want your help!”

“Well too
damned bad! You've got it whether you want it or not. That's what family does.”

“Are we done
yet?” I ask with irritation as I back away from him restlessly. It's hard to
continue standing here while he lectures me.

Tate's
eyebrows rise. “Done? Not even close. First and foremost, I want to hire an
attorney. I know a guy who's a real shark in the courtroom. We're going to deal
with Julie and Steve and figure out where we go from here with you.”

“What? You
can't be serious. You're going to go after Julie and Steve? It's too late,
Tate. There's no records of any of this and I'm eighteen, no longer a minor.
Plus, I don't want to be dragged into some messy trial where I have to relive
the worst five years of my life. I'm not doing it,” I say flatly.

“Blayre,
they need to pay,” he insists as he walks over to me, his eyes determined. “If
I could kill them and get away with it, I would.”

The fact that
he's talking murder has me flinching. “You don't mean that.”

“The hell I
don't! They fucked with you! Now look at you! You won't let anyone close to
you, at least not emotionally and you go hide in your room and take a blade to
your skin. You're a fucking mess!”

His words
cut me like a knife and abruptly I turn and walk away. If words could
physically hurt, I'd be a bloody heap right now.

“Blayre!” He
catches up to me and grabs my arm, pulling me up short but I refuse to look at him.
“Ah, hell. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you,” he says before he pulls me
into a tight hug.

I tense up
in his arms because the last thing I want or need is comfort.

Tate notes
my reaction because he reluctantly lets me go. “Look at me,” he says with
frustration. He waits until I do before he continues, “What the hell am I
supposed to do, Blayre? You don't want help but I can't ignore what you're
doing. I won't. So where does that leave us?”

“I don't
know,” I say honestly.

He runs his
hands over his scalp, his expression a bit lost. “I think I need some time to
clear my head.”

“You won't
do anything stupid?” I ask tentatively as I think about Julie and Steve.

“Depends on
what you mean by stupid.”

“Tate...”

“No, I'm not
going to freak out and high tail it to Minnesota. At least not yet.” His eyes
search mine as he suddenly goes still. “Can I trust you not to...harm yourself
while I'm gone?”

My eyes
narrow. “You can't control me, Tate.”

“Then I am
begging
,
please don't hurt yourself, Blayre.”

My eyes roll.
“If it makes you feel better, I'm not planning on going up to my room and
making myself bleed,” I say.

No, I had
one more person to deal with before I do that.

“Okay. Good.
I'll be back in a bit,” he says quietly.

I watch him
walk away before I turn and head for the hallway and make my way upstairs.
Noah's door is shut and I know it's rude, but I fling it open anyway. He's
snooped around in my room before, I think it's high time I return the favor.

Noah is
sitting at his desk, staring at his computer screen and looking lost. He must
have caught the movement of the door swinging open from the corner of his eye,
because he looks up and rises to his feet, his brown eyes on mine. “Blayre...”

“How could
you?” I demand as I keep a hand clenched around the doorknob as I stand there.
I shouldn't care that he has a black eye but I feel a pang of guilt at the
sight because I'd made the situation much worse than it needed to be.

He pauses a
few feet from me, his expression resolute. “I want what's best for you. I want
you to get better and if that means sacrificing our relationship to get you
healthy, then that is the price I am willing to pay.”

My heart
melts a little over the fact that he's clearly upset over what had gone down
today but I harden my heart and glare at him. “Tate knows everything and he
blames himself. All my shit has just gotten passed on to him.”

“Do you
think he'd have it any other way?” he asks simply as he slips his hands in his
pants pockets and studies me.

My lips
tighten because I know he's right.

“I don't
know what to do anymore. Ignoring what you do isn't working and I can't just
stand by and let you do this to yourself.”

“Well, guess
what. I'm not your problem anymore,” I say darkly.

He tenses
up, his eyes grim. “So that's it? I'm out, just like that?”

“I don't
know,” I say honestly, because the thought of kicking Noah out of my life hurts
me so deep, it sears my soul. “All I know is I'm not your problem and I never
have been. It's my life, not yours,” I say simply before I turn and walk back
out the door to head to my own room.

I spend the
rest of Thanksgiving in complete solitude. My door no longer locks because Tate
broke it, but at least it shuts. I'm now well aware of the fact that either my
brother or Noah could simply walk right in if they wanted to. The knowledge of
that has me uneasy.

I'd heard
Tate come home a long time ago but not once did he come up to see me and I am
okay with that. I'm not in the mood to revisit our conversation from earlier.
So much has changed and now I fear what life is going to be like living in this
household. Noah and Tate were not going to ignore my issues. Every single day
was going to be a battle with them.

When Tate
eventually comes up to see me, I am not surprised.

He knocks
briefly on my door before peering inside to note that I am sitting on my bed,
knees drawn up with my arms clasped around them. He holds up a plate as he
steps inside. “You've been holed up in here all day, I figure you're probably
starved by now,” he says lightly as he walks over to me and holds out the
plate.

He's right.
I'd been hungry for hours but refused to go downstairs in fear one of them
would corner me. The plate is heaped full with turkey, stuffing, mashed
potatoes and gravy, and a dinner roll. Without a word, I accept the plate and
put it on the bed. I'd dig in after we were done talking because I was well
aware that my brother wouldn't be leaving my room without bringing up the drama
from earlier today.

“May I?”
Tate asks, motioning to the bed.

“Go for it.”

He sits down
beside me and sighs. “I know you don't want to hear this, but you need help,
Blayre.”

“That's not
for you to decide.”

Tate's eyes
turn troubled as he gazes at me. “I'm aware of that. But don't you want to get
better? You can't enjoy what you do, I saw it in your eyes. I think you hate it
just as much as I do but you're stuck, aren't you?”

I find
myself looking away as I reach out and pick up a small piece of turkey. I pop
it in my mouth and chew so I don't have to answer right away. Eventually, I
say, “It doesn't matter because it's my life.”

“Bull. It's
not just your life it affects. It affects mine and more likely Noah's as well
if he cares about you.”

“I can
handle it on my own.”

“Bull,” he
repeats softly.

“Tate, give
it a rest,” I plead as I meet his gaze. “It's bad enough you know, can we not
add pressure to the situation as well. I can only handle so much and Noah is
bad enough with all his stupid little hot-line cards. Just give me a break for
a bit and let me deal.”

“I'll drop
it for the night but I am not going to ignore what you're doing. You need help
and somehow we are going to find a way to get you to want it,” he says simply.

I want to
argue but I know enough when to keep my mouth shut. Instead, I reach for
another piece of turkey and chew.

“So, you and
Noah, huh? I'm avoiding him like the plague right now or I'm going to give him
a matching black eye,” he says tightly.

Great
. We're trading one dreaded topic for
another.

“It was one time,”
I mutter as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear before I once again wrap my
arms around my knees. “One thing led to another and we almost slept together.
It hasn't happened since.”

Tate starts
turning red, his eyes narrowing. “You're saying it would have just been a one
night stand if you hadn't stopped? My best friend almost slept with my sister
just to scratch his itch?”

“No! That's
not what I said,” I say quickly before Tate can really blow a gasket. “You
should know Noah's not like that,” I point out. “He...likes me but we're trying
to remain just friends. He felt bad that things escalated behind your
back.”