Page 25 of Sin With Me

I didn’t want my family to go through that kind of pain and grieve my self-inflicted death in the event I couldn’t stop myself from cutting or taking an alternate way out. There’s been a couple instances where I cut too deep and nearly bled out. I’ve had to get blood transfusions to save my life. When I get to that point, there’s almost nothing to pull me out of it until I pass out.

Doing that to my family feels worse than horrific thoughts battling for my attention and I don’t want them to have to go through that again.

I especially didn’t want my twin brother to feel like he lost half his soul because that’s exactly how I’d feel if I lost him.

Going to therapy and trying antidepressants is something I can control when for years I felt like I had none. It’s not easy and doesn’t “fix” everything, but it’s helping me take the right steps to restrain from unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Tonight I’ve learned Delilah getting messed with or spoken to badly is a trigger for my anger.

Not that I’ll apologize for reacting, but I can work on how fast my temper blows up and think about the consequences before I do something stupid.

Leaning down, I press my lips to her forehead and then rest mine against hers. I love that she feels safe enough with me to let out her emotions and I want to keep it that way. I have a feeling being the oldest child, like me, she doesn’t have many opportunities for someone to be there for her the way she’s always there for others.

“You should get some sleep. We can talk some more tomorrow,” I tell her.

The glow of the side table lamp casts over her beautiful face. Her eyes close and she hums out a response. “Mmkay.”

But then her gaze finds mine again. “Wait, where’re you sleepin’?”

“On the couch.”

“Are you sure? I feel bad but also your bed is so comfy, so I don’t feelthatbad.”

I chuckle as she sinks deeper into the mattress. “It’s fine. I’ve crashed there hundreds of times.”

Plus, I like that my bed will smell like her after she leaves.

My spare room is mostly random shit. I never got a bed for it because I never needed one.

“Good night, Delilah. Sweet dreams.” Standing, I kiss her forehead again and then click off the lamp.

“Night,” she murmurs softly.

“WILDER GARRETT HOLLIS!”

“Oh fuck,” I mutter at the same time Waylon snaps his gaze to me. He’s mucking the stall next to me.

“What the hell did you do?” he asks.

It’s rare for our mother to scream at us, even more rare to drop our full names—it’s usually Dad—but it was only a matter of time before she found out.

“You got arrested last night? When were you gonna tell me?” She stands in front of the stall gate with hands on her hips.

“Uh…now?” I flash her my boyish grin that usually gets me back into her good graces. Although I’m a fully grown man, Mom still sees me as a sixteen-year-old boy who can’t stay out of trouble.

I glance at my twin, who looks less than amused. “I thought you were with Delilah?”

“She was there,” I confirm.

“What’d you do?”

I don’t get the chance to respond before Mom continues. “Betty Fields told Miss McWilliams that you beat up one of Sheriff Wagner’s deputies and put him in the hospital!”

I roll my eyes at the exaggeration. Good ole rumor mills are already spreading misinformation.

He gapes. “You didwhat?”

“That’s not entirely true…” I lean the rake against the stall. “I punched Wesley, onlyonce, and he hit his head on the cement. He has a concussion, but he’ll be fine.”