Chapter 8
Dutch sat down again on the bed, offering a blueberry to Chris. She accepted with a small smile, and popped the berry into her mouth.
He eyed her arms as he shoved a handful of berries into his mouth. "So," he said through the mouthful of berries, "tell me about those scars."
Chris looked at her arms and shrugged. "It happened a while ago," she said.
"These looks recent," Dutch said, running a fingertip over straight purple scars over her wrists.
"Yeah," she murmured, looking almost admirably. "I did this when you put my baby brother in jail."
His eyes moved back up to her face, locked on her for a moment. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's not your fault," she said.
"Tell me about them," Dutch asked again, pulling back the covers and running his fingers over the scars that etched her sides.
Chris found his hand with hers and lifted it to her mouth, pressing her lips to his fingers. "I started when my dad went to jail," she said. "Illegal drug possession. It got worse after my mother got raped. That was when she got pregnant with my baby brother."
Dutch pressed his lips to her forehead, stroking her hair back from her face. "You're not doing it anymore, though...right?"
"Yeah," she murmured. Her voice was quiet and faded, her mind lost in thought. "Hey, would you do something...?"
"What?"
Turning away from him and bending over the side of the bed, Chris picked up her pants and dug through the pockets. She pulled out a tiny penknife and handed it to him.
Reluctantly he took it, not taking his eyes from her. "What?"
"Carve your name."
He frowned a little bit. "What?"
She lifted her left leg a little bit and traced a finger up the inside of her thigh.
Firmly Dutch shook his head and reached over her, putting the knife down on the bedside table. "No," he said. "I can't-"
"Why not?"
"Don't you recall a few hours ago when I said I would never hurt you?"
"This isn't the same-"
"What makes it different?"
"I'm asking you to do it."
Opening his mouth to protest, Dutch found no words with which to protest. He thought a moment, his eyes locked on hers. "But...why?"
"I want it," was her simple, un-explanatory answer.
Sighing as she handed the knife back to him, Dutch took it and looked down at it. "Only if you'll carve your name on my back."
"OK," she said, nodding slightly.
Dutch licked his dried lips as he bent forward, holding her leg up. He pressed the point of the knife against the skin until it broke through and a thin trickle of blood ran over her flesh. She flinched as he drew the blade downward through the flesh, leaving a deep red line in her leg...
D...U...T...C...H. Thirteen cuts all together.
Lifting his eyes from his bloody work on her leg, his looked to her face and saw tears in her eyes. "Did it hurt?" He asked.
"Yeah," she said, taking the knife from him and cupping a hand over the bleeding marks on her leg.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling strange, having just cut his name into living human flesh.
"Don't be," she said as she sat up, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you."
He turned his back to her and she ran her hand over the smooth skin between his shoulder blades. She hesitated before firmly pinching the knife firmly between her fingers and pressing the blade to his soft, pale skin. Blood sprouted from the point of the knife and he flinched slightly as she began to carve.
C...R...Y...S...T...A...L.
Thin lines of blood trickled down his back, which seemed even paler compared to the deep crimson blood that ran freely down his spine. She pressed her hands over the cuts, dropping the knife to the floor.
Reaching over his shoulder, he covered one of her hands with his. "What's it mean?" He mumbled.
"I don't know..."
"We belong to each other now," he said, lifting his head and looking over his shoulder at her.
She smiled weakly and nodded, wrapping her arms around him. "Yeah," she said. "I belong to you."
"You belong to me," Dutch whispered, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles.
Smiling, Crystal kissed his neck and jumped back from him, skipping over to the CD player in her underwear and his tee-shirt, now spotted with his blood. She turned on the CD Player and pressed play, to find a John Lennon CD already in. "Does it have #9 Dream?" She asked.
"Yeah," Dutch said, leaning forward on his bed, feeling the flesh of his shoulders stiffening. "Song ten."
She turned it on with a grin and spun on her tiptoes, then began to dance, blood still trickling down the inside of her thigh.
