June glanced at Ian’s belly. “Sure, Ian.”
Ian shrugged.
Brad released Gwen, pulling Ian into a hug. “Still feel bad?”
Brad’s arms were warm, his chest solid, but being this close to him made Ian’s senses jangle. He couldn’t help looking at the lab door, squirming out of Brad’s arms. “Not right now.”
“It’s safe here,” Brad murmured, his eyes knowing.
Ian shook his head. “Rather not.”
“What happened?” June asked. She glanced at the door, curious.
“Sue saw us,” Brad said.
Ian closed his eyes, trying not to groan. “We should’ve just waited until we got home.”
“What the hell did you do?”
“We kissed. That’s all.” Ian sighed, his face prickling.
“But you kiss Brad all the time,” Gwen said. “Sometimes you do the tongue thing and it’s ew.”
Ian dragged his hands down his face, his skin too tight. He couldn’t look at June—that was too much information as it was.
“O...kay,” June said. “French kisses aside, what did Sue say?”
“I don’t know,” Ian answered.
“She was kinda weirded out.” Brad frowned. “Then she said she wouldn’t tell, but who knows?”
“It’s going to reach Harold soon,” Ian mumbled. He glanced at the lab door again, almost expecting one of the post-docs to return. Sooner or later, someone else would walk in on them.
“I’ll keep an eye on things here,” June said, pursing her lips. “Don’t worry.”
“’Worry’ is Ian’s middle name,” Brad said dryly. “We should get going. It’s not good for him to be in the college right now.”
June peered at Ian with some concern, but Ian had enough of being watched for today. The mention of Sue, and Harold, and losing his position here... Panic jabbed into him, closing around his throat.
“We need to get home,” he mumbled.
“Yeah,” Brad said. “C’mon, Gwen. Time to go. Thanks for watching Gwen, June.”
Ian followed his alpha and his daughter out of the lab, looking at the floor, and at his hands. They got into Brad’s car. The trip home passed in a blur.
The sky was dark and the streetlamps were orange, and when they pulled into the driveway, part of Ian relaxed a little.
No one could see them here. He could hide away, find some sort of release. And now he couldn’t look Brad in the eye, because he didn’t want Brad to know what he planned on doing.
The moment Brad carried Gwen to her room, Ian slipped into the hallway bathroom, kneeling by the cabinet under the sink. There, he reached up past the cabinet opening, to where he’d taped a slender box in the very corner of the cabinet, out of sight.
No one had found the box—to even see it, you’d have to stick your head into the cabinet, roll onto your back, and look up. So Brad had missed it, and so had Gwen.
Ian’s hands shook when he opened the box. It felt a little bit like addiction, maybe, except it wasn’t quite the same.
He slid the scalpel out, its weight comforting in his hand. Ian scraped his thumb along the blade, testing it.
It was still sharp as a razor. He set the box down, his skin itching, his chest too tight.
He thought about the college, the announcement on the noticeboard, Sue’s accusing stare.
Then he thought about Harold’s disgust from years ago, when Ian had opened his office door, and Brad’s father had been standing outside, his nostrils flared. There had been no way to hide Brad’s scent on his skin, the musk that clung to his clothes.
You’re a disgrace to the college, Harold had muttered, his lip curling.
His heart heavy, Ian shrugged out of his shirt, grabbed a lighter, and flicked it on. Orange flame danced against the scalpel blade.
Don’t hurt yourself, Brad had told him.
For a moment, Ian wavered. He thought about Brad frowning, Brad’s disappointment when he discovered that Ian wasn’t as strong as he’d hoped.
Why do I keep failing everyone? Why can’t I be stronger?
Ian shoved his forehead against the bathroom counter, his eyes burning. He wanted to be somewhere else. Wanted to be someone other than himself.
The loathing squeezed around his throat, and he pushed the blade between the lines of his scars, breathing through the pain. It didn’t hurt so much. Gwen’s birth had hurt more.
Ian lifted the blade out, pushing it down onto another patch of skin, deeper this time. So it really burned, fire scorching down his nerves.
He hissed, the agony razing his thoughts away.
For a moment, there was nothing but silence in his mind, and the throb of pain.
He leaned against the counter, just breathing.
There were people who looked down at you for cutting yourself to pieces. Ian had figured they knew nothing about the release, they didn’t know how good it felt, just to let yourself float away. There was pain, and freedom, and for a few moments, Ian didn’t have to worry about his job, or his life, or being good enough.
He opened his eyes when his arm itched. Blood had trickled down his skin. Ian stood, holding his arm over the sink. Watched as the crimson droplets disappeared down the drain.
Ian sighed, pressing his forehead against the mirror. It had been months. Felt good to welcome the pain into his body again.
Someone knocked on the door. “Ian?”
Ian froze, his breath stumbling in his throat. Brad.
“Ian?” Brad knocked again. “You okay?”
No, Ian wasn’t okay. He looked at the bloody streaks down his arms, his heart pattering.
Brad had told him to stop this. For months, Ian had listened. Now, he’d sunken back into hurting himself, ignoring Brad’s request.
Gods, you’d hate me for it.
“Ian?”
I’m fine, Ian wanted to say, but his voice was stuck.
“Ian!” Brad tried the door handle. For a heart-stopping moment, Ian thought the handle might give, and Brad would step into the bathroom. Brad would look at him, incredulous and disappointed. Ian’s heart clenched.
The lock held.
Ian set the scalpel down quietly. Turned on the faucet, running his arm beneath the cool stream. The water turned pink, and when he got to
