Taking the Leap

Chapter 7

My sneakers slapped against the pavement as I made my third trip around the neighbourhood. The night air was clean and cool but I felt like I was running through the fires of hell. Running was supposed to be calming. But the way my stomach lurched made me feel sick. I kept running.

I pumped my legs, listening to the ragged sound of my own breathing just to shut off my brain for one second.

His face the whole time had been the worst thing. Pity warped by guilt and like he understood. No one understood how rejected I had felt. And the way Anders had laughed, like it was a joke and the way his face changed when he realized it wasn't.

It had been forever, years even. But it still tore at me like a wound that wouldn't close. I would get too comfortable and feel okay and then I'd remember that if my pack—if my family knew about me then they'd reject me the way Anders had. Everyone would just leave.

I kept running. My knees throbbed, my feet ached and the feeling of blood climbing up my throat was making me nauseous. I didn't realize when I stopped running, or when I ran out of water.

I was back at the hotel, drenched in sweat and stumbling. It had been several minutes since I must have stopped but my heart was still racing as the sweat cooled on my skin. The receptionist said hello but I ignored him pretending I was listening to music.

I breathed before opening the door, not wanting to talk to Xander. He was propped at the computer desk, smelling freshly showered and his hair braided down in a corn row style against his scalp. He was humming while wearing earplugs. But when he noticed me his nostrils flared and jolted upwards.

"Achilles—" Xander said quietly. "Can we talk?"

I ignored him, feeling inexplicably irritated by his presence. I dug through my luggage, looking for a change of clothes and toiletries. "Gonna shower." I grunted before slamming the bathroom door.

#

After my shower, I shaved the stubble that had been building for the past few days and was struck by the bane of my existence; the bracelet. Maybe if I just forcibly removed it I'd feel better.

I sat down on the closed toilet seat, fidgeting with my razor and carefully extracting the blade from its place holder. I held the serrated piece of metal between my finger tips before pushing a finger against the edge, watching my skin pucker and a bead of red begin to well up. 

I took a deep breath and moved the razor down to the bracelet, beginning to saw away at the metal. The sound of metal grating against metal filled the space as I carded carefully. The band tended to shrink if I even thought about removing it. It was tight against my skin and I made sure not to slice myself accidentally.

The bracelet heated  up unexpectedly and tightened further on my wrist. I huffed in frustration as I pressed harder, trying to cut into the metal. I just wanted it off. Gone. Away. Out of my life. With every thought I pressed harder and with more force even when the metal didn't give.

My grip on the razor was slick with my own sweat making my finger slip. The razor cut a long, deep gash into the skin beneath my wrist and down my forearm.

Shock came before fear as I watched in horror as an incredible amount of pain followed the sight of the wide cut, blood beginning to fountain upwards as rivulets of blood washed down my arms.

A second later was when I realized that Xander had been knocking on the door. Knocking and knocking until he burst in.

I stared at him beginning to feel light headed, still holding the bloody razor, and feeling self conscious in my too small hotel towel which was wrapped around my waist.