Chapter 23
Wren
I hissed as cold water ran over my fingers.
Tiny streaks of red swirled down the sink before disappearing down the drain. The skin around my nails was raw, angry, and torn. Some of the cuticles had been ripped so far back that they were still oozing blood.
Damn it.
I gripped the edge of the sink and forced myself to look at the damage.
I had done this.
Again.
My stomach twisted.
This was a habit I thought I'd left behind years ago.
Middle school had been the worst. Whenever I was overwhelmed, anxious, scared, or angry, I would chew at my fingers until they bled. It started with biting my nails and somehow evolved into tearing at the skin around them. My mother used to cover my fingers in bandages. Teachers used to ask questions. The school counselor once spent an
