The drinking, the drugs, none of those things mattered. They were a distraction. But the cutting…he couldn’t agree to that. When his thoughts grew toxic, his hatred and panic and self-loathing leaching into his blood until he felt sick and sluggish, there was only one way to let it out, to cleanse himself of the poison. He was safe. He was careful. It was only one little cut. It wasn’t that Wyatt liked it or that he even wanted it. He needed it. Without it, he might die.
