Chapter Twenty-Five: Covered with Scars
"Those who don't build must burn. It's as old as history and juvenile delinquents."—Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury

April walked out of her room to find that Roger was already gone, and Maureen hadn't even come home last night—God knew where she was, probably with some guy or… something. Tom stood in the living room, though, behind the couch, and looked up at her immediately as she walked in.

"Tom," she asked, "have you seen my— What is it?" She frowned at him as she noticed the way he was watching her. It was one of those looks he'd been giving her lately, for the past few days… Those looks. No way to explain them, really, but… not the way he usually looked at her. It was starting to unnerve her.

He sighed, but didn't say anything for a moment or two. Finally, he said, "April, I need to talk to you."

"Okay…" April had the feeling that this would take a while. She sat down on the couch, her legs tucked under her, and looked up at Tom. "About what?"

Tom walked around to the front of the couch and sat down beside her. "April… Can I see your arms?"

She stared at him for a second before pulling her arms closer to her chest, balling the ends of her sweatshirt sleeves in her hands. "Why?" she asked, though she knew full well why. The real question was how he knew, but she couldn't bring herself to ask that.

"April," he said simply. "I know. Show me your arms."

Right. Of course he knew. She sat there for a moment, staring at her hands, then sighed and extended her arms slowly, pushing up the sleeves on both arms. On one arm, a crisscrossed network of new and healing cuts and scars, and on the other, track marks. She couldn't bring herself to look up at Tom's face. Gently, he took her by the wrists and pulled her arms toward him a little so he could look at them more clearly. He just studied them for almost a minute, wordless, and finally looked up at her. She refused to meet his eyes.

"April Shower, look at me, okay?" Reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to look at him. He still hadn't let go of her wrists. "You can't do this, honey. You can't do this to yourself."

She nodded silently, looked down, away from his face, unable to find any words.

"Why?" he asked quietly.

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she didn't bother trying to get rid of them. The confusion and concern in Tom's voice… She just couldn't say anything to explain herself. "I don't know," she whispered, her voice little more than a whimper in the back of her throat.

He let go of her wrists and pulled her close to him in one of those warm, all-encompassing hugs only Tom could give. All resistance went out of her all at once, and she leaned in to him, shoulders shaking with tears she didn't even try to suppress. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

Tom leaned back a little to look her in the face again. "You know I love Roger, April, and you know he's one of my best friends… but he's an idiot." She looked up at him sharply, but he went on before she could protest. "Don't look at me like that, you know it's true. As much as I'd like to, I can't control him, and nothing I can do is going to do any good with him, I don't think. But you're smarter than this. I know you are."

There was nothing April could say to answer and she just leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a minute or two, and at last Tom said, "I want you to give me your razors."

She pulled away from him, but he grabbed her shoulders before she could stand up. "What?"

Tom only watched her steadily, unwavering. "Your razors, April." He nodded to her arms. "I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. You're like my baby sister, sweetheart. If you don't think I'm going to protect you, even from yourself… well, you're wrong."

April pressed her lips together and met his eyes for a second or two, then sighed and pulled away from him, standing up and pulling her sweatshirt sleeves back down to cover the cuts and track marks. "Fine," she said quietly. "You can have them." But God, it hurt even just to say that. She wanted to handle this on her own, damn it. Was she now going to give up all control over her life?

"Roger Davis, for once in your life could you act like a mature adult and—"

"April, I have more important things to do than… than stay home and wash the fucking dishes, damn it! I have to go and—"

April balled her hands into fists at her sides, digging her fingernails into her palms, in part to remind herself that she could not just smack Roger, no matter how much she might like to. "This isn't about the dishes, Roger, and you know it. It isn't even about just today. Every time anyone asks you to do something that you don't want to, that doesn't directly benefit you, you act like you're five years old or something, you selfish bastard! It's not even just me. Just like last year, when you backed out of Maureen's performance…"

"Don't bring me into this," Maureen snapped from the couch. April barely glanced over at her, well aware that Maureen was simply irritable because Benny had gone out on a date with that new girlfriend of his, Alison or whatever her name was, and probably wouldn't be home. She always got snappish when Benny was out on a date, and April didn't even want to know why. She turned her attention back to Roger, just as he started to stalk to the door.

She followed him a few steps, then stopped. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

Roger didn't even bother to answer, simply slammed the door behind him. April stood there for a second or two before turning and beginning to walk to the bedroom. She stopped when Maureen said, "I can't believe you two can get into a fight over who's going to wash the dishes."

April sighed and realized abruptly that her hands were still in fists. She uncurled them slowly to see that her fingernails had dug gouges in her palms. They were bleeding. She studied the crescent-shaped marks for a second, and then lowered her hands. "You know we weren't fighting about that," she said softly.

"I told you he was a bastard a long time ago," Maureen muttered. "Before you started dating him. You really shouldn't be so upset now…"

"You know what, Maureen, shut up, just… shut up! I really don't give a damn what you think right now. If you say one more word, I swear…"

Maureen started to get up off the couch, glaring at April until Mark hurriedly jumped to his feet and interposed himself between the two. "Girls, please, chill! We really don't need you two getting in a fight on top of everything else, okay?"

Both of the girls still glared past Mark at each other. When April opened her mouth to snap at Maureen again, Collins walked up from behind her, took her by the arm and started to pull her away towards her room. April completely forgot what she'd meant to say as Tom said in a hushed tone, "April, I need to talk to you."

"This is none of your business, Tom," she said, but allowed him to pull her into the bedroom and shut the door behind them.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. When she frowned at him, Tom sighed and went on. "I can understand arguing with Roger, but picking a fight with Maureen? What're you thinking?"

April looked up at him, unable to keep the petulant expression from her face. "I don't know, maybe that she was butting in where she didn't belong. A lot like you are now…"

"I love you, April, but sarcasm doesn't suit you. I'm only asking because I care. And Maureen's your best friend. You can't fight with her."

"Why not?" she snapped. "She started it."

Tom rolled his eyes. "And now you sound like the five-year-old. What's gotten into you, huh? This isn't my April Shower."

She pulled away from him and sat down on the bed, facing away from him. "And what would you know? Maybe I've never been your April Shower anyway."

He frowned, walking around the bed to sit down next to her. "April, what's the matter? I haven't seen you like this in… well… ever."

April ducked her head, muttering something inaudible. When Tom asked her to repeat herself, she looked up at him in annoyance. "It hurts."

"What does?"

"Everything. My arms burn, but… that's not it."

He studied her face. "Are you… You haven't been using, have you?" She shook her head, wordless. Tom immediately put an arm around her shoulders. "And Roger still is?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Asked him to get rid of it, but he's… been through withdrawal before. Doesn't think he can do it again."

"So that's what you two were…"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"So'm I."