Lost Girl Ch. 10

Rather than cooperate with his brain, his fingers had decided to go completely numb. Still pinched between his thumb and forefinger, the razor was poised and strategically angled to produce a deep cut, but his fingers were as good as dead, so Tristan had no choice but to drop the bladed tool.

The urge to cut was still overwhelming, and for minute he thought of making another go at it. But his fingers were so frozen that he couldn't wiggle one single digit, let along pick up the razor which now lay useless on the rotted floorboards beneath him.

"I'm not addicted to cutting anymore." Tristan's voice came out echoey in the gutted trailer. "I was just going to do it one more time, that's all."

The wind whistled through the shattered glass of the abandoned trailer, but the voice he was waiting to hear never spoke back to him.

"I can feel you here, Ahanu," Tristan loudly stated. "Why are you hiding from me?"

The aluminum framework of the dilapidated camper creaked and groaned, swaying lightly with the gusty wind, but still no response from the otherworldly presence which had chosen to keep itself hidden from Tristan's eyes. Several minutes passed, then a few more before he finally rose to his feet, and with fingers that were still numb and tingly, he headed for the old rusted door.

As soon as the soles of his Converse touched dirt, a strong gust of wind hit him, cutting right through the jeans and hooded sweatshirt that covered his lanky frame. Rather than blow right past Tristan, the wind wrapped itself around him, cloaking his body so tightly it felt as if he were receiving a hug.

Logic told him that he should have felt cold. But instead, he only felt shielded.

* * * *

While Christmas day had been fairly mild, New Years Eve was bitterly cold, but the sky was completely clear and illuminated by a big, round moon that had a yellowish tint to it.

Still adorned with Christmas lights, the Whitefeather house was a simple, one-story clapboard home with a shingle roof. With her mother and Big John at her side, Claudia walked up the short path that led to the front door, and on reaching the wooden barrier she lifted her hand to ring the doorbell.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door came first, followed by the lock disengaging, before the door opened to reveal Winona, who was outfitted in a sequin wrap dress with wide, capped shoulders.

"Hello, and Happy New Year." Her red lips pulled back into a smile. "Come on in and join the party."

Mona entered first, followed by Claudia, who was then trailed by Big John.

"We come bearing gifts." He passed her the bottle of wine and assorted cheesecake platter that was in his hands.

"Cheesecake *and* wine?" Flashing another smile, she happily accepted the treats before placing them on a table that was filled with an arrangement of snacks. "I knew there was a reason you were my favorite brother-in-law."

"I thought that was Henry." A smile crossed his face before he asked, "Where is he, anyways?"

"In the kitchen helping Martha prepare the stuffing."

"I think I'll go say hello." Holding Mona's hand in his, Big John pulled her along with him towards the kitchen.

"Cute dress, Claudia." Winona's gaze swept downward to take in the silver spaghetti strap mini dress that was layered beneath her beaded evening jacket.

"Thanks. According to my mom, this is the dress she was wearing when she first met my father."

"Seriously?" Mona lifted her brows. "Wow, I never would have guessed it was that old. It looks so modern."

"She almost threw it out a few weeks ago, but I figured it still had some potential, so I decided to revamp it."

"Well, you did a great job." Gesturing to the snack table, she added, "We've got a couple of hot dishes that are still being prepared, but you're more than welcome to help yourself to anything that's already out."

"Think I'll just have a soda for now," she said while grabbing a plastic cup and a bottle of Cherry Coke. "Is Tristan around?"

"He's in his room. I knocked on his door about half an hour ago and he said he was coming out, but he's still holed up in there."

"I'm guessing he'll probably wait until the very last minute." Claudia's lips tilted into a small smile.

"Yeah, well...you know how he is." Winona returned Claudia's smile before saying, "His room is down the hall and to the left."

"Right. I'll see if I can't pull him out of there." And with two cups of Cherry Coke in hand, she headed toward the hallway.

On reaching his door, she maneuvered her elbow to knock against it, but as it slowly pushed inward, she realized that it was already slightly ajar.

"Tristan?" She took a few steps into the room, then several more before realizing that she was standing in one of the untidiest rooms she had ever seen.

Little more than an explosion of clothes, underwear, textbooks, and several pairs of well-worn Converse, Tristan's room was in dire of need of a clean-up. Everywhere she looked, there were piles of clothes that seemed to consist of both clean and dirty items, and there were even a few empty chip bags and crumpled candy bar wrappers, but she didn't have long to dwell on the bedroom's chaotic state of disarray, because her attention suddenly shifted to Tristan, who was standing half-naked in front of his closet.

Rather than take note of Claudia's presence, he continued to stand with his back to her, head bobbing to the loud rock music that could be heard through his DJ-style headphones.

Since he had nothing more than a pair of boxer briefs on, Claudia could clearly see the outline of his cute little ass, and took no shame whatsoever in getting in a nice, leisurely look. Her gaze then shifted upwards to take in the lean muscles of his firm, smooth back before finally coming to rest on his shoulders, which were just beginning to widen and take on a more masculine look.

Although she had always known that Tristan wasn't a runt, she hadn't expected him to look *that* good without his clothes on, and in response, her heart beat quicker. It was at that very moment that Tristan's body suddenly stiffened, and before she had time to avert her gaze, he quickly turned to face her. Like a deer in the headlights she froze, face growing hot as she realized that she had been totally busted.

A few beats passed, then several more before her gaze dipped lower, and then was when she saw the scars. Consisting of thin, pink lines that criss-crossed over each other, the strange patterns stretched from his left nipple down to the v-shaped outline of his hipbone.

Although most of the markings were faint, Claudia could see that a few of the scars were raised, and struck by the number of healed cuts that marred the left side of his torso, she stared even harder. Perhaps noting where her eyes were focused, Tristan turned bright red, then quickly procured a clean looking T-shirt from a pile of clothes next to his closet.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to bust in on you like this." Claudia cleared her throat, then lifted her gaze back to his face before quickly adding, "I tried to knock, but you didn't answer."

Only half-listening, Tristan was now slipping into a pair of jeans, which he promptly zipped and buttoned before taking off his headphones.

"Uh...I think your shirt is on backwards," Claudia said. "You might wanna turn it around."

No longer just red on his face, but also his ears and his neck, Tristan adjusted the T-shirt so that it was on the right way, then combed his fingers through his hair before asking, "How long have you been standing there watching me?"

"Not long. Half a minute, maybe a little more." Suddenly remembering that she was holding two plastic cups in her hand, she offered one to Tristan. "Cherry Coke?"

"Thanks." He took a long sip, then sat on his bed so that his back was resting against the headboard. "You wanna sit down?"

Aside from Tristan's bed, there was only a computer chair and a beanbag on which she could seat herself, but since they were both currently occupied by stacks of books, she realized that the only place she could actually relax was on his bed.

"Have you heard from Kimi?" He asked before taking another sip of his Coke.

"Yep. She says her mom's going to give her a lift over here, so it shouldn't be too much longer before she shows up.

"Cool." He stretched out his long legs, then crossed them at the ankles.

"So I know this might seem totally nosy of me," Claudia started. "But how did you get those scars on your chest?"

Rather than offer an immediate response, Tristan averted his gaze to a point over her shoulder. He took a sip of his Coke before placing the cup on his bedside table. Then shifting his eyes so that they were back on Claudia's face, he questioned her in a lowered voice.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I'm curious. And I noticed that only the left side of your chest is marked up, so I was just wondering how it happened."

"I'm a cutter," Tristan stated. "Or at least I was, until today."

"Oh." Not having expected him to be so forthright, she blinked in surprise while studying his face. "Wow. I never would have guessed that you did that sort of thing."

"Well my parents don't know either, so I guess I've done a pretty good job of hiding it."

"You kept this a secret from your parents?"

"Of course," he said. "You think I want them to know that I've been mutilating my body?"

"Well, no...." As Claudia's voice drifted off, her chest began to tighten. "I can understand you not wanting your parents to find out, but this is serious, Tristan. I really think you need to get help."

"I don't need help, because I'm not cutting anymore. Didn't you just hear me say that?"

"But you could go back to it," Claudia said.

"No, actually I can't. He's pretty much blocked me from harming myself."

"Who?"

"Ahanu."

"Who's Ahanu?"

"My spirit guide."

"And he's blocking you from cutting..."

"Yes."

"Okay." She allowed a few moments of silence to pass before adding, "Well even if you have truly stopped, I still think it might be good for you to get some counseling."

"Right. Like I have money to go to a professional therapist."

"The counselors at school are free. And I'm sure they would be willing to keep your sessions confidential from your parents."

"Yeah, right. The counselor will probably think I'm suicidal and call my mom and dad behind my back."

"I really don't think they would."

"Well I do," Tristan said. "So speaking to a counselor Isn't something I feel comfortable with."

If the tone of his voice wasn't enough to get his point entirely across, the look on his face definitely was. She could tell by the stiffness in his body that he was feeling uneasy, and the way he crossed his arms in front of his chest told her that he was closing himself off from her.

"All right, forget the counselor." Hoping that it would help him relax, she grabbed his hand so that it was clasped tenderly in hers. "I'm just worried about you, Tristan. And I want you to be well."

"You don't have to be worried about me," he said. "I'm fine. *Really*."

The way his eyes looked into hers made it clear that he was trying to reassure her, but Claudia wasn't quite ready to brush off the situation just yet.

"Why do you cut yourself, Tristan?" Her voice came out soft, and completely non-confrontational.

"The same reason why people get drunk, or do drugs, or have a lot of sex," he said. "It's a coping mechanism.

"What are you trying to cope with?" Her eyes gazed deep into his dark brown ones. "Is it all of the negative energy that you pick up from people at school?"

"No."

"Then what?"

He lightly shrugged before saying, "I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Why not?" She asked.

"Because It's heavy. And heavy things make me feel really bad."

"Okay." She briefly lowered her eyes, then looked back up at him before stroking her thumb against the back of his hand.

With palms still clasped, they sat in stillness. If it wasn't for the sound of laughter and constant chatter that came from the guests in the living room, they would have been completely cloaked in silence. Several more minutes elapsed and still neither spoke a word. But Claudia could see that Tristan's body had become less rigid, and that was definitely a good thing.

"I started cutting because of my uncle."

As his voice broke the quietness, Claudia rested her eyes intently on his face.

"Which uncle?" Claudia asked. "You're not talking about Big John, are you?"

"No, not Big John, Tristan said. "I mean the uncle on my mother's side."

"What's his name?"

"Rodney."

"And he's the reason you started cutting?"

Tristan nodded.

"What did he do to you?" Now it was Claudia's body that suddenly went rigid.

"He didn't do anything to me. It's what he did to himself that's been haunting me for the past year."

The silence that followed Tristan's words pervaded every inch of space that surrounded them.

"He committed suicide. And I was the one who found his body."

"Oh my God." Her mouth temporarily slackened before once again closing. "And this happened a year ago?"

He nodded, then swallowed back the dryness that had built in his throat.

"I'll never forget the way he looked when I found him." Tristan swallowed again, then eased out a shaky sigh before continuing on. "I guess the blast from the shotgun hollowed out his head, because the wall behind him was covered with blood and brains."

"Oh God, that's horrible." The mere thought caused a sudden coldness to hit Claudia at the core, and her heart clenched at the way Tristan's face had gone slack with sadness.

"That image is forever burned into my eyelids," he said in a flat, monotone voice. "And the emotional pain he left behind was so strong..." Tristan's shoulders sagged, face turning downwards as he stared at his lap. "I didn't want to take on his pain, but I couldn't help it.....it felt as if someone had cut open my stomach and poured acid in the wound."

Claudia lightly stroked Tristan's forearm while looking at his face. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that. What a horrible thing to have in your memory."

"Worst pain I've ever felt in my entire life." The nasal sigh he eased out came from deep down in the pit of his stomach. "Anyways, that's the whole reason I started cutting. Because ever since the day I found his body, I've been dealing with that pain he left behind. And to this day, I have recurring nightmares of his bloody and destroyed face."

"So the cutting helps you to release the pain," Claudia said. "Is that how it works?"

"Yes. And it also allows me to deal with the guilt that I carry around."

"Guilt from what?"

Lifting his gaze from his lap, Tristan turned his head to look into Claudia's eyes.

"From the part that I played in his suicide. I knew he was hurting, and I didn't do anything to help him. I should have helped him, Claude. He needed me."

"It's not your fault, Tristan. You can't blame yourself for his actions."

"He was family. I was the only one who could feel what he was going through, and instead of reaching out to him, I just let him deal with it on his own."

"You can't beat yourself up over that," Claudia said. "Even if you had helped him deal with it, who's to say that things would have turned out any different?"

"They might have," Tristan responded. "But I'll never know, will I?"

"No. I suppose you won't."

The absence of words that followed settled heavily between them. But it gave them each a moment to sort through their individual thoughts.

"Have you seen or talked to him since?" Claudia asked.

If anyone besides Tristan had been sitting beside her, the question would have seemed utterly strange and off the wall. But Tristan was cut from a cloth that was entirely different from anyone else she had ever met.

"He came to visit me a couple of times, and he told me how sorry he is about me being the one to find him." A brief pause intercepted his next words. "He wasn't quite as sad as I remembered, but he was still carrying around a lot of the pain."

"Did he make it to the other side?" Claudia asked. "Or is he caught in some sort of purgatory?"

"He's stuck at the in-between place." A flash of sadness crossed his face as the words left his mouth. "Which basically means there are some things he has to finish before crossing over into the light."

"But It's been a year. How long will it take before he's forgiven?"

"There is nothing to forgive," Tristan stated. "There is only acceptance and love waiting for him. But until he realizes that and decides to accept the invitation to move on, he'll be caught in a place where he doesn't belong."

"How sad." Claudia's heart gave a tug at the thought of Tristan's uncle caught in limbo. "I hope he makes it to a better place."

"He will," Tristan said. "I just have to keep reassuring him that there's nothing bad waiting for him on the other side."

The sound of silverware clinking against dishes mingled with the lively chatter which drifted down the hallway and through the thin walls of Tristan's bedroom.

"About me being a cutter," Tristan said. "Don't tell anyone, all right? You're the only person who knows."

"I'll keep it a secret. Promise." She squeezed his hand in reassurance. "But please don't start cutting again."

"I won't," he said. "I'm done with the razor. For good."

"This will probably sound totally weird, and I completely understand if you're not comfortable with it, but could I see your scars again?"

Tristan stared at her for a few moments before lowering his gaze, then rubbed the back of his neck before finally offering a response. "Why? They're ugly."

"I'm just curious," she said. "I've never seen cutting scars before."

Clearly hesitant, he regarded her in silence for a few more moments before finally touching the hem of his T-shirt.

You want me to lift up my shirt?"

"Well, yeah. I mean that's the only way I would be able to see them, right?" A hint of a smile touched her lips.

"Uh....okay."

With slow, nervous movement, he guided the hem of his garment up until his torso was exposed, and with eyes that were fixed on Claudia, he watched as she focused on the scars.

For awhile she just stared, studying the thin, pink lines that stretched from his left nipple down to his hipbone. While most of the scars were vertical, there were a few horizontal lines as well, which created a pattern that was similar to tally marks.

The majority of the marks were completely smooth, but others were slightly raised, which signaled to Claudia that those particular cuts had been especially deep. Curious as to why he had only marked up the left side of his torso, Claudia contemplated asking him why. But she could tell that he was ashamed of the imperfections, so she decided against questioning him.

"Your scars aren't ugly," she finally said. "They're just a symbol of the emotional pain that you're currently trying to overcome."

"They are ugly," he rebutted. "And the only thing they symbolize are my stupidity."

"You're not stupid. You're just going through a difficult time."

Directing his attention to his chest, Tristan gave his scars a long, hard look before pushing his eyebrows together in a frown.

"I already have trouble getting girls as it is," he said. "Now who's gonna want me?"

"The scars don't take away from your attractiveness," she firmly stated. You're just as handsome with your shirt off as you are with it on."

"Yeah, right. You're only saying that because you're my friend."

"No, I'm saying it because It's the truth."

The conviction with which she spoke the words must have convinced Tristan that she was telling the truth, because the crease between his brows began to gradually smooth out.