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Four

“I don’t know.” She replied softly. She didn’t even look at him. She was so ashamed. She felt so naked and exposed. Her skin was no longer thick and beautiful like it had been to him. It was broken and rough covered in bruises and scars. She knew he didn’t know much about her family in France, but he did know one thing. They weren’t her favorite people in the world. They weren’t even close.

“It’s a simple question Jonna, was this for me.”

“No.” she answered softly turning her head away. It had really been a normal day. She went to work looking and calling places where she could have a gig and then she went to work at the small café right around the corner from her tight apartment. By the end of that day, she had felt lonely and two bottles of Jack Daniels had only increased this feeling. The angst had come in emotional waves, one after the other. First it had been her apartment. It was in shambles. She had thrown glass, smashed pictures, splintered her hand from punching holes into her wall and she had done the unthinkable, she destroyed her guitar. After she had starred down at the once beautiful guitar of red velvet that was now a mess of wood and strings, she collapsed. The razor had been still sitting on the table from when she last used it which was to shave her legs.

“Then why did you do it?”

Her response was so soft he didn’t hear it.

“What?” It was a gentle ‘what’. One of deep compassion. One of caring. He really did care for her, it was just her lack of self respect that cut him down to his bones.

“Go away.” She said louder pulling the blanket to her chin. Her wrists were throbbing. She demanded she didn’t want medicine to make her drowsy. She wanted the medicine now but then it would have seemed as if she was as unstable as an unstable suicidal person could be.

‘I knew he’d save me,’ she thought trying to comfort herself, ‘He had to.’ She was stable, she was just bored. It was a comforting thing to her but she knew how that looked to an average sane person. The impression wasn’t very good either.

She had starred at it hard, for several minutes. An hour had actually passed before she just ripped it from the table and dug it deep into her skin cutting hard. She didn’t bother to gasp, she just drank the pain and did the same to her right wrist. She finally took a swig of Jack Daniels and started to cry again. She decided to call A.J. and plead for her life. It had worked. She had gotten his attention. Now she just needed a way to keep it.

‘I’m not a psycho,’ she thought, ‘I’m just unnaturally clingy because of my past.’

“I’m not going away until you tell me what the hell is going on.” He growled at her. He stormed around the bed and looked straight into her eyes.

“Go away!” she hissed. The thought of slitting her own throat had come into her head but she felt it too gruesome. ‘Besides, when A.J. would rescue me, I might not be able to speak ever again or my singing voice would be ruined.’ She remembered than thought and buried her face into the pillow. Would it still matter? Her guitar was a heap of trash now, wood and strings and a strap to carry it by.

“I love you Jonna LaSal, is that what you want me to say? I love you?” he said this in the coldest manner he could possibly come out with. She closed her eyes quickly swallowing hard.

‘Why is he doing this?’ she thought. She wasn’t about to cry. You couldn’t say she felt much emotion; there really wasn’t any to be felt. She didn’t feel sorry for herself. She felt something weird, something new. It was as if she felt sorry for trying to take her life. She didn’t really want to die then. It was a rush of emotion, a day of loneliness and two bottles of Jack Daniels.

“I’m sleepy.” She whispered. He inhaled sharply.

“Fuck you.” He growled and he was gone.

~

He took another swig of his whiskey and swallowed it hard. It was harsh rushing down his throat quickly. It was more forced. It had taken him close to two hours for him to calm his nerves. Two shots and three cigarettes had done the trick. She had royally pissed him off. He tried to care, he tried to be gentle and keep his space but this girl wouldn’t budge. He was thoroughly worried for her. Two weeks ago, he never had to worry about her cutting her wrists and now she was on the verge of self-destruction. It was frustrating for him to watch but during the times of the arguments, those weren’t the feelings she saw. They were anger and annoyance. He knew she hadn’t had a great life, but he realized neither had he and he was doing the best he could. But his heart, his oh so soft heart that had been the downfall of him before had given into her excuses. He didn’t know whether it was the fact that he was weakened by the other sex or whether he felt somehow strangely intimidated with her “fierce” determination to find love with him and only him. He had once been attracted, he’d admit to anyone but her, but his attraction fell when she let him deeper inside. He tried to avoid this hostile side of her but he couldn’t seem to get past it.