Zombies Suck (7 page)

Staying near Storm had been the only concrete plan in his world, but now there was Uli to think about. And, well, Alex.

The doctor cleared his throat.

Shit.
Cutter needed to speak.

“I think we identified why I cut.” He barely restrained the eye roll. Life pretty much sucked. His mother died of cancer. His fucked-up father was inattentive at best and abusive when he noticed him. Eventually a well-intentioned guidance counselor called the Child Protective Services, which swept him into the foster care system.

And in that system he had remained. His father didn’t care enough to get him back.

“Have you talked to Ethan?”

“You mean Storm. Yeah. Storm visits every night.” Despite himself, he smiled. Storm hated his given name, and in the beginning of tenth grade, he refused to answer to Ethan. Storm was born. Cool, smart, hot, and completely out of Cutter’s league. Even when Ethan renamed him with a less stuffy name for Cutler, a name change didn’t matter; Cut was still the same kid everyone pitied.

The doctor gave him a pointed stare before scratching something on the yellow pad perched on his lap.

Cutter didn’t want to rehash his tragic little teenage heartbreak. It was too cliché for words: gay boy in love with his straight best friend gets rejected. Though in his case, there was nothing straight about Storm except his long dark hair. Still, he wasn’t surprised Storm didn’t want him. Cutter wasn’t cool or good enough to be Ethan’s boyfriend, let alone Storm’s.

“Would you like to persist in avoidance, or can we actually accomplish something this session?”

“Sure, Doc. Don’t get your tightie-whities in a bunch.” He’d heard Storm use the wisecrack more than once, getting him suspended from school on two occasions. When a defense was needed, striking with humor was usually a good course of action.

“Have you talked to Ethan to gain closure?”

Cutter’s sigh and crossed arms made the therapist write more on the notepad.

“It’s closed.”
Damn.
Cutter uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, trying to show how open he was to the process. He could play psychological ring-around-the-crazy better than anyone. He’d had more than enough practice.

Whether he was open or not really wasn’t important. Getting the hell out of here became the goal. He was a prisoner and he had things to do.

“Then why do you think you haven’t you had any other relationships?” The doctor flipped through his pad. “There was one guy you said you liked.”

Hopefully, this little disappearing trick didn’t cause Uli to lose interest.

Thumb on a yellow page, the doctor paused and scanned down with his finger. “Yes, right. Uli. Am I pronouncing his name properly?”

“Yes.” The thought of Uli made blood rush into Cutter’s cock. “Ulrich or Uli. He says Ulrich’s old-fashioned but I think it’s unique. I just met him a few months ago.”

In an annoyingly neutral voice, the doctor asked, “And how do you feel about that?”

“Fine. He’s a nice guy.” Why did Alex’s image pop into Cutter’s mind too whenever he thought of Uli? Why did he feel drawn to Alex
and
Uli while still in love with Storm? No doctor could fix the screwed-up things in Cutter’s head.

Dr. Cohen checked his notes before peering over his glasses at Cutter. “But the relationship has not turned physical.”

“Not yet. Nope.” Cutter laughed. “Geez, give a man a chance.” He pushed out of his head the image of four bodies entwined and tangled in pleasure.

The damned doctor honed in on the question Cutter asked himself. “You don’t think you’re holding out hope that Ethan will change his mind?”

Yes.
“No. Of course not, being shot down once was enough.” Though every day that ended without Storm throwing him down on a flat surface and having him was reinforcement of the rejection.

Flipping to the first page, the doctor skimmed the notes with his finger and removed his glasses to shoot Cutter a penetrating stare. “You were together once. Do you think anything about that experience has stopped you from moving on?”

Not wanting to bullshit an answer the therapist wouldn’t accept anyway, he reached below the surface. “He was my first. I was his. He’s my first love.”

“Still?”

Fuck yes.
Cutter shrugged. “Well, I’m not in love with anyone else.”

Or at least he wasn’t going to attach labels to what he felt for Uli. Besides, if he loved the German expat, he wouldn’t find Alex so freaking alluring. Though, everyone at the club wanted Alex, so maybe his confusion was normal.

Cutter pushed aside the emotions, and as if on cue, the urge to slice into himself rose to the forefront of his mind. He traced the healed ridge of an exceptionally deep scar.

“Are you feeling an urge to cut?” The therapist’s gaze followed the almost sensual drag of nails over the mark.

No sense in denying it.
“A little.”

Cutter peeked at the doctor through his bangs, hoping not to see disgust there. It wasn’t.

“What are the things you can do other than cut?”

Fuck him!

He knew punching the know-it-all therapist wasn’t one of the activities. He poured himself a glass of water, which happened to be third on his magic list. “I’m already talking to someone.”

The therapist smiled as if he dealt with a naughty toddler. Cutter wasn’t sure if he understood he was being a smartass or if he approved of him reciting the list.

“Keep in mind self-abuse is a habit. You can break the pattern and create something more positive for yourself.”

Cutter’s mind teased him with the next to perfect release slicing gave him. The cut allowed the hurt, anger, and emotion to escape. He was left with a satisfaction almost as sweet as orgasm. If he hadn’t landed in the hospital from a cut going septic he wouldn’t have even considered giving up that kind of relief regardless of how fucked up it seemed to the rest of the world.

“By not giving in to the need to hurt yourself and doing something else, you take away cutting’s power. There are many other things in this world you can do to ease your pain.”

Yeah, right.
“Exactly why I’m here, Doc. Trying to find a way to deal with all the shit that’s gone down making me the freak I am.”

“I don’t have many rules…”

“I get it. I’m forbidden to talk negatively about myself because I need to change my inner dialogue.” Granted, his self-esteem was non-existent, but he wasn’t stupid.

“If you can’t love yourself…”

“I know…” He was trying to center his thoughts on only positive things, but his inner voice sounded a lot like his father. Everything he’d ever done wrong ran through his head. It ranged from a bad grade on a test because he was stupid to sounding like a jackass when he talked to not being good at sports and for being an overall disappointment. Thankfully, his father hadn’t figured out he was gay.

“Do you love yourself?”

Did not wanting to kill yourself anymore count as loving yourself? Hmmm, probably not. His mom loved him unconditionally. She even knew he was gay and made him promise he would only settle down with a nice boy. “I’m working on it.” Love wasn’t an easy thing.

More scratching of the pen across the yellow pages filled them. He almost didn’t care what the guy wrote. “So if you were going to talk to Ethan what would you say?”

He needed to spit out something. He actually found a couple of the techniques that did work. Cutter shut his eyes. He took, held, and released ten deep breaths. He visualized Storm. Oddly enough, he found comfort in the images of Uli and Alex standing on either side of his best friend. He banished the image but kept his eyes closed as loneliness slipped over him.

“Storm, I love you. I always have and I always will, but I know you don’t want to be with me.” He didn’t blame Storm for not loving him romantically. No one would want to be tied to a freak like him. Oops, he was negative in his inner dialogue again. Note to self:
shut the fuck up
. He cleared his throat. He was just saying what the therapist needed him to say so he wasn’t sure why it hurt. “It’s okay you don’t love me back. You’re my best friend. We’ll always be friends.”

“What just happened?”

“Huh?” Opening his eyes, Cutter saw the therapist pointing to his arm. He dug his fingernails into his skin. Just a little more and he would draw blood. The thought tempted him and heightened his need for the relief. The pain would answer his need and clear his head. A bloody slice would wash the mess in his head away, if only for a little while. He released his nails and traced the half moon indents in his arm. He tried not to be sorry he didn’t break skin.

“What happened?”

Isn’t that what the doctor is supposed to figure out? How the fuck should he know? “I guess I was feeling too much. I don’t like being overwhelmed.”

The therapist nodded his approval. “What are some other things that you can do when you’re submerged in too much emotion?”

“Take a walk. Talk to a friend. Draw a picture. Read a book. Take a bath. Do something else.” Do something other than what everything in him said he needed to do to survive one more minute of his fucking life.

The therapist crossed the room to his obsessively clean desk and opened his top desk drawer. He pulled out a handful of rubber bands. “Put one on your wrist and when you are overwhelmed, snap the band.” The therapist demonstrated. “Ow!” He rubbed the red line encircling the top of his wrist.

What a wuss.
Cutter resisted the urge to crack up as the therapist warned him to be careful with those. A rubber band didn’t quite compare to the pain caused by alcohol poured into a fresh cut, but he knew he needed something. He needed to hurt externally to allow the pain from the inside a place to manifest so everything would temporarily disperse.

When the session ground down to a halt, the therapist did his usual send-off speech. “I’ll see you on Thursday. If you have any problems or issues, you have the number. Call and speak to someone immediately.”

“Sure, Doc. Catch you later.”

Damn, he had time to kill before visiting hours so he read and attended a painting class. He loved to draw. Whether he used charcoal, paint, pencil, pen, or finger paints, the activity set him free of the chaos in his mind. His emotions all flowed out of him without needing pain for a conduit. The art teacher said Cutter had potential, but he knew the guy was probably just trying to reinforce his expressing himself by something other than slicing himself up.

Every night at the beginning of visiting hours, Storm was always the first one through the door. They strolled through a garden area with trees, flowers, and a walking path. Cutter supposed the lovely surroundings were there to make the crazies feel better. They plopped down on what he considered their bench and surveyed the surroundings. In a way, being encompassed by such beauty only made his mood worse. He snapped the bands around his wrist, hoping the double shot of pain would help him concentrate.

Jumping at the noise, Storm asked, “What the fuck was that?” His eyes seemed to burn the lines of red left on Cutter’s wrist more than the double sting.

“Therapy.”

Storm stared down at Cutter’s wrist until he moved his arm out of the line of vision. He pulled down the long sleeves of his T-shirt so they covered past his wrists. He always covered his arms because they were an ugly mess of scars.

Storm’s long fingers combed back his shoulder-length black hair into a ponytail. “Looks like more self-abuse to me. Hey, put one of those in my hair.” The movement wafted Storm’s scent to Cutter’s nose. God, he smelled delectable enough to lick.

Wanting to deny his best friend but being unable to pass up a chance to play with Storm’s hair, he pulled out a small brush from his leather satchel. “Turn around.”

Obeying, Storm dropped his hands from his hair and scooted closer to sit patiently in front of Cutter. Cutter gathered the strands and carefully detangled the ends and the middle before finally releasing the hair. He drew the brush from the top of Storm’s head to the ends, repeating the process until Storm’s hair shone in the setting sun.

Leaning back against Cutter’s body, Storm turned as if to glance up, but only succeeded in nuzzling Cutter’s neck. Mm mm! Cutter went stiff in more ways than one.

Reaching for something to distract he asked, “How’s your brother?”

“Mm mm, Erick’s fine. Dad didn’t fire him yet so he must be doing something right.” Cutter just hoped playing by the McGrath rules didn’t drive the kid crazy.

Storm traced the rubber around Cutter’s wrist before plucking one of them lightly. “Make me a ponytail, Cut. Please.” The words caressed his neck as they were spoken, making Cutter quiver with the need he always carried too close to the surface.

He couldn’t stop himself from snaking both arms around Storm to pull him tight. He needed to get this over with in one go because if he stopped he wasn’t sure if he’d ever restart. “One of the things I’m supposed to do is find closure where I can. So that means you shut up and listen.”

“Proceed.” Storm relaxed more of his weight so he pressed back into Cutter.

Cutter cleared his throat before forging forward. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be more than friends. I know you said that the night we were together was a mistake and that’s fine. Shhhh, let me finish.” He tightened his arms around Storm so he didn’t try to escape from this conversation as he’d always done in the past. “You’re my best friend and you always will be.” Cutter inhaled and exhaled a little raggedly. He found the rubber bands and snapped them hard against his wrist.
Ahhhhh, that’s a bit better.

“How’s that therapy?” The anger in Storm’s voice confused Cutter.

“Replacement of cutting.” The words hung between them. Cutter had never admitted what things made him cut. Now Storm only needed to watch for him to pluck the rubber to know what triggered his need.

Storm shifted and sat up. He put his hand on Cutter’s knee and squeezed. “I’m here. I’m listening. Talk to me.”

The intensity of emotion couldn’t be projected by Cutter’s heart. Storm cared Cutter believed that. Why else would have tolerate him for so long? But Storm didn’t love him in the same way Cutter loved him.