Vein Fire (17 page)

CHAPTER  26

Mason  Jar

Matt heard Hannah wake up and walk to the bathroom before coming down the stairs. Everyone had left besides Hannah number two. They were about to smoke before going to bed.

Hannah paused on the second from last step. “Where’s Jared?”

“He left.” Matt said.

“What time is it?”

“Just after five.”

“It’s Saturday?” her voice was small, like a little girl’s.

“Yeah—Saturday.”

Hannah number two lifted her head from Matt’s shoulder. “Come sit down, we’re going to smoke.”

“I—I should probably go.”

“Sit, Hannah.” Matt pointed to the couch. “It’s the weekend. You need more fun in your life.”

Hannah listened to Matt. He tried not to look at her. He didn’t care what either of the two girls would think if he stared at her, but he had a time and a purpose for everything.

He slit the bags open, carefully, and prepared to smoke with the girls. It was a mindless action for him now—he’d done it so many times. He had a plan, and he was saturated in the electricity of it.

The three huddled together with their straws, chasing smoke wisps with pressed smiles and squinted eyes. They pulled away, laughing. Matt’s imagination was cottony and luminescent. He smiled because Hannah smiled. He wanted her to stop—he did. He knew her habit had crossed over into her pill stash when she wasn’t with him. She walked the glass rim carelessly if she’d allowed Marcus to shoot her up more than once. He’d have to talk to her about it. Later.

“Kiss.” Matt’s dazed smile was drowning in want. “You two—kiss—for me. I want to see it.”

Hannah number two was as predictable as monsoon rains. She cupped Hannah’s face between her hands and kissed her softly. Hannah took the kiss and then sat back on her legs, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Kiss more.”

They listened, both of them—as he told them what to do. They undressed each other and explored under his direction, putting rosebud mouths on each other’s breasts and fingers where they became lost. He watched, as he liked to do.

“Make her cum.” Both girls looked at him, not sure who he was speaking to. “The other Hannah, you,” he said, pointing to his girlfriend. “Make her cum.”

With her face buried between two scarred thighs, she carefully explored her with her mouth. Matt rearranged his erection. Only one of the girls was still new to this—he could tell—and she was lost somewhere on her carpet of dreams, smiling. She kept her eyes closed and he wondered if it was the drugs, or if she was pretending it wasn’t a girl making her feel so good.

When she started to orgasm, her legs closed around Hannah number two’s head, who just increased her speed. Her voice cracked in small gasps. She was ready. Matt moved Hannah number two aside and lifted Hannah’s legs up over his shoulders. He missed the weight of her legs on him.

She opened her eyes when he entered her, inhaling as he plunged to her very bottom. Hannah number two moved above her and started to position herself on Hannah’s face.

“No, she’s not eating you out, just kiss her.”

Obedient—both of them; he was pleased. He withdrew from Hannah and stood.

“Both of you, on your knees, like last time.”

They were both eager, fighting over him like two hungry kittens. Matt arched his head back. He had fantasized about it for so long. They were both beautiful and willing with their outstretched tongues and open mouths.

“Enough, on your knees, side by side.”

He took time with both of them, switching back and forth, pushing their hips back into him, grinding furiously as he sampled the girls. When he was ready, he stood and pulled them both by their hair so they were once upon him with anticipation of which he would empty his load into. When it was time, he evenly spread it across the faces and lips of both girls.

He stepped back, “Clean each other’s faces off.”

Hannah looked around for something to use, but Hannah number two came at her with a lapping tongue. Cute licks were exchanged between the two girls as they laughed and kissed.

When they were done, everyone dressed and Matt prepared more heroin for them to smoke. The two Hannah’s seemed to like each other more now, but if it wasn’t for the drugs, he would have expected some sort of tension.

After they smoked, Hannah number two relaxed on the couch until she fell asleep. Hannah lay on the carpet, with her eyes closed, making carpet angels like she usually did.

“Where are you at, Angel?”

“I’m in a Mason jar with holes poked in the lid. Someone stuck a dandelion in with me. I tried to climb out, but the glass was too slippery. I’m okay though—I see the world and the world sees me, but the world sees something I want to see. I’ll be safe in the jar.”

“That’s beautiful, Angel.”

Matt stood up from the couch and curled next to Hannah on the floor. She stopped sliding her arms and legs against the carpet and let him cradle her. He could tell she was holding her breath.

“Breathe, Hannah.”

She exhaled, and then inhaled.

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered.

“Things would be different if you’d only let them.”

Tears escaped out of the corners of her eyes, down her temples, and became lost in the spirals of her ears.

CHAPTER  27

Doll  Heart

Hannah woke up alone and sore on Matt’s living room carpet. On the couch were Matt and the other Hannah, quietly sleeping. She tried to remember what happened, but she decided she’d do that later. She tiptoed as she gathered her things and snuck out of the house.

The walk up the block to her car was shameful. She smelled liked cum and beer and the back of her hair tangled into a cascade of knots. She hurt and wanted to hurry home to swallow some pills. As she reached her car door, she noticed her dress was on backwards. She sighed and slid the key into the lock. Shaking her head, she realized she couldn’t count on herself for much of anything.

Part of the way home, Hannah recalled everything—the threesome, and the things Matt said to her. He watched her too—all night—she kept catching him, but he was unapologetic and did not look away. During the sex—he favored her—he did! How he kissed her, fucking her first, and not letting the other Hannah sit on her. Ironed into the fabric of her mind, she knew these things were true and not hopes she shabbily pieced together with an agenda.

It panged in her
gut—whatever it was, and she felt ready for it. Matt was her paradox. It did not make sense that she should feel this way about him. His fascination with her was part of it, but not entirely what was making her organs collapse inward onto their own walls. She wanted him.

Stupid! You’re trying to fix things in your past by being with him. You are fucking nuts. And when you woke up, who was he sleeping beside? Remember that.

Hannah did think about it—all morning after she arrived at home. She thought about how the other Hannah was prettier than she was, thinner, and more outgoing. It was an easy choice—why have the broken version when you could have the shiny one?

Hating herself was getting easier. One therapist had told her she’d outgrow the self-destruction and the cutting—as if it was child’s play.
Ha! Silly woman.
Time will tell, and tales of time were both cataclysmic facets of Hannah’s life.

A cutter finding themselves in emergency rooms was the equivalent of a drug addict showing up, complaining of pain, and requesting opiates. The doctors expected all of her roads to be well signed—manipulative, attention seeking, and a false desire to die. They were wrong. What they saw as manipulation were her poor attempts at grappling with her anxiety. She never learned how to manage the overwhelming waterfall of her feelings. Desperate to feel better, she did the most
primal of all remedies—injure herself. And the attention seeking behaviors they labeled her with? She never wanted attention, positive or negative. When someone became interested in her, her first reaction was to become scared—the next was to run.

Jared and Matt’s recent attentiveness confused Hannah, and she didn’t like it. She wanted them to like her, but when they did, it was difficult for her to process—and they frightened her. Everything was two-sided for her, but with Jared and Matt, she wondered what they wanted from her.

Still…it hurt. The other Hannah replaced her so quickly and she could not help but compare herself to her. The smooth, unmarred skin, the defined stomach, and perky breasts—she was stunning. She would have picked her, too. The desire to punish herself for not being good enough was intense when these thoughts playing in constant rotation in her head.

The crazy things she did—like drive too fast, take too many drugs, have promiscuous sex, and put herself in dangerous situations—they were all veiled ways to hurt herself. Once, she attended a therapy group for girls like her. Sitting in a circle, hearing all the different ways people found to hurt themselves only gave her ideas. It did nothing for her self-discovery except in terms of her pain threshold. After a month and a pocketful of new ideas, Hannah quit the group.

Her parents blamed the incident with Matt for her behavior. They were grossly uninformed of the extent to which she hurt herself. Despite this, she was carted between therapists and doctors who spent the majority of the time either telling her she needed to follow their suggestions and ‘be normal’—as if it was a choice, or she lied to them, playing games with their inability to circumvent a mind-fucking from a teenage girl. Once she spent an entire hour telling the therapist how successful and happy she was. The therapist jotted notes and smiled along pleasantly. At the end, pleased with it all, she asked Hannah, “Well then, why are you here?”

Hannah said, “Because I cut myself.”

The therapist lowered her eyes and let the smile fall from her mouth as she made a note on her tablet. The previous attempts might have failed, but Iris seemed different. Hannah liked her. She knew she’d go back.

*

She didn’t use the cold water, only the hot. The nail brush went into the shower with her instead of the washcloth. Scrubbing
that girl
off of her skin took time. The brush tore at the skin on her body, but it was necessary. Matt didn’t love what was on top, so maybe if she took it away, she would be good enough. All of the times she couldn’t say no to him—she wore the things she did for and said to him under her skin—they crawled around, moving when she tried to cut them out. She lost herself years ago and the only way to get her back was to escape out of her skin.

The hot water tank was empty and the water ran cold. The self-loathing she felt remained. A lesson would be taught. Preparation took time. Hannah dressed, dried her hair, and applied make-up. In her head she reviewed the different scenarios—cutting would not suffice. The feelings etching her skin achieved echoed throughout her body with a much greater intensity. It was a calming sensation. Most people didn’t understand it, and she failed at explaining it. For Hannah, self-harm was simple: she hated herself, so she dealt the punishment she thought she deserved; or her anxiety was so bad, it could only be lessened by physical pain.

Snapping her make-up case, she walked to the top of the stairs.

It’s decided then.

The worst thing that could happen to her was nothing. Suicide wasn’t her intention, but she wasn’t afraid to die. Being paralyzed would keep her from herself—on the outside. No courage was needed, just hate—and that is what she concentrated on. When she jumped from the top step, she thought things would be better in a few seconds.

Tumbling downward in a tangle of legs and arms, Hannah landed in the middle of the staircase, not even making it to the bottom. She looked at a new scrape on her elbow which burned as the troughed skin exposed the lower layers to the air. The failure left her feeling defeated, but she climbed the stairs again, intent on improving her technique.

The landing was very small—barely two steps in any direction. She stood in her bedroom doorway and started off with a slight run. Springing off from the top step, Hannah soared into the air. For the fraction of a second she was airborne, she was happy—thinking it might work.

Hannah landed hard, on the outside of her right thigh. Her arm instinctively reached out to grab something and she could hear it snap as her body twisted on top of it. Sliding down, she settled at the bottom of the stairs. Good intentions to do bad things to herself didn’t always end in satisfaction. Trembling, the pain was welcome, but a trip to the emergency room was not. Her arm was definitely broken, and they would undoubtedly see her scars. Her mood wouldn’t be helped by uncomfortable questions and raised eyebrows.

Hannah cradled her broken arm on her lap, wincing at the pain. A large sigh escaped her lips. She was tired of herself. Getting to the emergency room on her own would be difficult. She considered calling someone, but she wasn’t sure who. No matter what, she’d never admit to throwing herself down the stairs, but just as before, she knew they’d figure it out.

Broke
n parts—arms, legs, skin, head—like a fragmented baby doll. One day she’d be whole, with a doll heart that was stronger than her flesh. Hannah was a mess. It seemed like Jared, Matt, and Marcus only wanted to play with her so they could feel her break. Letting them fracture her only made her want to do so herself. Existing in overlapping circles of dysfunction, she couldn’t remember the way out.