Prologue

Looking around, it doesn't look like a psychiatrists office. It looks like a normal place. It doesn't seem like a home to crazy people. Is it even right to call them crazy? Most of them have just been hurt, they're just different. You get to know some of the people walking down these halls, which I have. I walk these halls frequently and many of them never stop talking whether you are listening and engaging them or not. You get to know them, and you know they aren't normal. But I'm not normal either. I'm different too. I've been hurt too.

A lot of people say the best way to move on from your past is to face it. So long I've tried to run from mine. It's like, your past Emmett only chase you if you run from it, like a dog. It only continues to pester you if you continue to give it any kind of attention, be it positive or negative. So maybe it's time I face mine. I don't know. I've gotten pretty good at running from it, the scars on my wrists make that task a little bit harder, but add long sleeves and poof! problem gone. I wish I could say I'm okay now. But the tendencies still come, and the memories still hold me back a bit. It still affects my life.

I guess it isn't really a surprise how I ended up here, how I got to be in this place. How I got to be the person I am now, and it isn't a fun tale. So if you would like to exit now I won't take offense. This isn't your story, this isn't your burden. This is mine. And this is how I try and deal with it, in a more constructive manner.

It's time for the past to go where it belongs. In the past.

August, 2012

I walked through the doors of the school, still bewildered I had driven here and made it. I had gotten my license in August, and I had a nervous smile in the picture because they had taken it before the test. I was somewhat thankful for that though, because I wanted to pull my long blonde hair out of my face for the test, but leave it down in the picture. So it was a win win in the end. I sucked in a deep breath and walked to the hall my locker was in. I dropped off my school supplies and went to my homeroom to get my finalized schedule. The teacher barked her commands at us when the bell rang and I ended up getting a seat next to Savannah. I was glad it was alphabetical. That meant David was with me too, so I was at least surrounded by friendly faces.

David was a fun tale, my ex boyfriend's cousin. My unstable ex's cousin, whom lived in the same house as my ex.

A love story gone wrong in short. We fell in "love" freshman year in high school and he said he would marry me one day. He was my first love, so I fooled myself into thinking it would last. Sophomore year started and he wanted to meet all my friends and be part of every small part of my life, and I wasn't ready for that, and it worried me. So after eight months together, I broke it off. He yelled things at me, he said I never cared about him at all. He called me a liar. I did still care about him, and the words stung more than any reprimanding my parents ever gave me, because he had truly given up on me. I cried a lot the following weeks, and worse yet, I forced myself to still eat lunch at his table, because Edward was the only friend I knew of in that lunch. After all was said and done, I heard from my friends that they always did get a bad vibe from him, yet no one had the nerve to tell me. I felt hurt by them, hurt by him, and betrayed by everyone. I worked my way back to trusting people, and one of the first that came to me was David.

He opened his arms to me, and was honest with me and talked to me and made me smile again. A way I hadn't since I broke up with my ex. He lifted the bricks from my back that told me what I did was wrong before. He asked me out, and I foolishly said yes, though my over cautious, soft brown-eyed mother told me it was a bad idea. My gut-feeling gave me warnings I never heeded too. He asked me out right before school ended, the same time the previous year that my ex had asked me out. I went over to his house, and he greeted me at the door. As we were walking away, I had seen my ex, and seen a look in his eye that subconsciously had me picking up the pace.

The next time I saw my ex, he wasn't around David. He glared at me with an intensity I had never seen him have before. It frightened me instantly and I turned to leave. He grabbed my arm and shoved me against the wall. His mouth moved but I was unable to pick up the words through the shock of this behavior. He must have sensed me not listening, and he struck me across the face. My brain snapped out of it's haze and I ducked under his arm and ran.

I avoided him for as long as I could, but when I couldn't it was the same, pushed against the wall rough enough for purple splotchiness to become the permanent image of my back, and for my face to need far too much cover up to hide the bruising that marred my cheeks. It continued for a couple weeks, and I was able to keep it a secret from everyone. My attitude slipped into a depressive state, and I didn't care about much of anything over that summer. I signed up for a suicidal amount of upper level classes. Four advanced placement college level classes and one honors and guitar for kicks. I wanted to keep myself as busy as possible. I got a job at McDonalds and worked a lot during the Summer, an excellent excuse not to go out, and a good way to keep my ex's anger down.