Chapter Twenty-Two

A fter our cuddle session, I left so Jaxon could take a shower. I'm already aware that he's planning on leaving soon. I don't know where he's going, but I'm not about to be some jealous girlfriend asking him hundreds of questions. If he plans on hanging out with his friends and riding, I'll ask if I can tag along. I don't want to be here alone. Especially with my mom.

I hum to myself as I make sourdough starter—flour and water that I've fermented for a week or longer. I got this sudden burst of energy to try something new, and I've been dying to make some bread. It'll be great if I can make it Halloween themed, since the holiday is just around the corner. Maybe I can form the bread into a bat shape, or even a pumpkin. I'll need to talk to Jaxon about taking me into town and buying fun-shaped cutters.

"Dahlia."

"Hm?" I raise my head and search the empty kitchen for the person who called my name. My eyebrows pinch together. No one is here .

Shaking off the uncomfortable feeling, I turn back to what I'm doing. I add flour to the water in the large, decorated jar I found in the cabinet.

"Dahliaaa. Dahlia!"

I yell and jump. My flinging hands knock into the jar, and it tumbles to the floor, shattering into pieces. My heart makes itself at home in my throat as I turn to face the rest of the kitchen.

"Save me." Sobs echo in my mind, then in the kitchen. "Save me, Dahlia! Save me!"

"Save us."

"Do the world a fucking favor and cut your wrists."

I slap my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut as the voices scream at me to hurt myself. My legs tremble, and I breathe hard through a panic attack that grips me in a chokehold. No matter how hard I push on my ears, it doesn't muffle the voices.

"Kill yourself."

"No!" I yell.

"You're a pathetic waste of space."

"Dahlia!"

More sobs fill my head, and all the voices join as one. Every so often, one stands out from the rest.

"Stab yourself."

"Cut. Cut. Cut."

My lips move with drowned-out words, and I don't know how long they yell, but it feels like an eternity. They promise that if I cut myself, they'll stop.

"Cut," I cry. "Cut. Cut. Cut. Cut."

I shake my head and hold my hands tighter over my ears as they get louder. It's like someone is screaming right next to me, but no one is here. It's just me and these demons. Tears sting my eyes and break free to trail a wet path down my cheeks .

"Dahlia."

They won't shut up, no matter how much I yell at them. I scream and snap open my eyes. I grab a knife from the drawer and hold it to my wrist. My hands tremble, so when I slide the sharp end of the knife over my skin, it forms a jagged cut. The voices laugh, blending together and screaming louder for me to keep cutting. I whimper as I cut another line, then another, until blood wells to the surface and drips to the floor.

"Dahlia!"

A tattooed hand slaps the knife out of my hold and spins me around to face a terrified Jaxon. He grabs my arm where I cut myself, then yells something that I can't hear. Not when the voices are still yelling at me. Fear clouds his eyes, and he grabs a dish towel to wrap around my forearm. He applies pressure, and I wince with a scream.

"Look at me, flower." Jaxon's strong voice filters through all the voices and screaming.

They die down until I hear myself repeatedly screaming, "Cut!"

"Dahlia," Jaxon says in a strained voice. He pulls his phone out of his pocket with one hand while still holding my bleeding arm with the other. "Look at me, baby."

I struggle to breathe as another panic attack slams into me, knocking the breath out of my lungs. My stomach churns, and I swear I'm about to shit myself because of how terrified I am.

"Jaxon," I cry.

He snaps his gaze to me, terror still evident. "It's okay. You'll be okay."

Fat tears roll down my cheeks. I want to fall into his embrace, but I'm frozen in place, unable to move. All I can do is sob and whisper his name repeatedly, hoping it's enough to chase away the panic.

"What's going on?" Mom says as she walks into the kitchen. She looks at me first, then down to the floor where the mess of glass and sourdough starter lies scattered near my bare feet. "My jar! No!"

"You're more worried about a fucking jar?" Jaxon yells.

Mom chokes on a cry, and she rushes toward us with her hands reaching toward the glass pieces. "This was my grandmother's! It's an antique!"

I sway on my feet, unable to find balance. Jaxon steadies me and holds his phone to his ear. I'm assuming he's calling the ambulance, and whatever he hears on the other end sets his jaw in a hard line.

Mom gathers the broken pieces and places them on the counter before she spins and faces me. I stumble back a step, and Jaxon follows me with a glare directed toward my mother.

She stabs a finger at me. "I can't ever have anything nice because you're a selfish little bitch. I know you're faking all of this to get out of trouble."

Tears burn my eyes, and her cruel words repeat in my head.

Mom storms toward me and raises her hand. Before her palm connects with my cheek, Jaxon drops his phone and catches her wrist.

"Hurt her, and I'll ruin something else of yours," Jaxon says through his teeth. "You're more worried about a broken fucking jar than your daughter who was cutting herself?"

Mom's eyes widen, her thin lips parted in horror. She looks at me with no sympathy and turns back to Jaxon. "You won't hurt me."

He leans toward her, the corners of his lips curling into a mocking smile. I shiver and hesitantly step closer to him.

"Hurt Dahlia, and let's find out together if I'm lying." He arches an eyebrow, challenging Mom.

She yanks her hand away from him and scrambles backward to put space between her and Jaxon .

"I'm talking to your father about this," she says before she storms out.

Jaxon turns back to me and peels the towel off my arm to inspect the injuries. I hiss when the cool air hits the fresh wounds. Jaxon's eyebrows lower, and a muscle jumps in his jaw.

"I was hoping it wasn't deep." He folds the cloth around my arm. "We need to go to the hospital."

He gathers me in his arms and picks me up princess style. I hold out my injured arm so it's not squeezed between me and his chest. He carries me to his Camaro, then drives like a bat out of hell to the hospital.

The moment we're in the emergency room, he's yelling at the nurses to get me seen. The poor women scramble and open the doors to rush me into an empty room. The nurses clean the wounds, and the doctor comes in to stitch them while they ask me what happened. I'm still so shaken up that I barely give answers, just enough to talk about the voices. A few times, the doctor looks at me from beneath his lashes with a perplexed look.

"Was this an attempt to end your life?" he asks.

I shake my head. "No. They told me if I did it, they'd leave me alone."

"Are you on any medication?"

"No. Unless you count birth control."

The doctor sighs and throws his used gloves into the biohazard bin. "I'm going to refer you to psychiatrists who may be able to help you. Hearing voices is concerning, and not something to ignore. Do you understand?"

I frown and curl my fingers into a tight fist. I don't like the way he's talking to me, but I'm not about to say that out loud.

Jaxon huffs a laugh from the chair next to my small examination bed. He raises his head to look at me with exhausted eyes that hold only a flicker of amusement.

"Did I say that out loud?" My cheeks burn with a blush.

The doctor rolls his eyes and grabs the door handle, but he stops when he remembers something. "I'm required by law to have you sent to the psychiatric unit. You need help and will get the answers you need there."

"What?" I yell. By the time the word is out of my mouth, the door shuts behind him.

I slump back in my bed and flatten my lips as I glare at the door.

"You need the help," Jaxon says softly. "We'll get answers about why you're seeing and hearing things." A muscle by his eye twitches, and I suspect he knows something I don't.

"I don't want to be in there." I look down at the bandages over my sore arm.

"I know you don't, but it'll be okay. Remember what I said?" He takes my hand, lacing our fingers together as I nod. "We'll figure this out together."

I relax as I gaze at our joined hands. His envelop mine. This sort of intimacy—the kind that's only shared between lovers—feels so right. Jaxon's the only one I trust. If he says it'll be okay, then it'll be okay.

"Mom was a real bitch," I mumble.

He stands from his chair with a soft laugh and a shake of his head. Sitting on the edge of the cot, he pulls me into his arms in an awkward hold. Shadows move over his face as unspoken thoughts rush through his head. He stays quiet, and I worry my bottom lip, waiting for him to say something.

"You're not having second thoughts about us, are you?" I ask.

Jaxon snaps his gaze to my face, and his lips pull down in a snarl. "Never. I meant what I said, Dahlia. You're mine until the day we die."

I nod and let out a shaky breath.

An hour passes, and then I'm discharged from the emergency room and transferred to the psych ward. Jaxon trails behind me and stops when a guard puts his hand on my brother's chest. I stiffen and wait for Jaxon to lose his shit on him, but his attention remains on me.

"Your girlfriend will be taken care of," the guard says.

I mouth, I love you, to Jaxon and don't wait for his reaction. I face forward to walk through the double doors into the unit, leaving my older brother behind.