Annabeth sat on the smooth tile floor of the bathroom. She stared emptily at the blood oozing out of the cut on her wrist. It stung, but it gave her a sense of relief. She inched her toes alone the floor, running them over a crack between the tiles. Her right big toe bumped into the sharp edge of the razor, reminding her that she needed to clean up the mess she'd made. She struggled to her feet and turned the tap on, running it over the razor and her wrist. She leaned against the counter and watched as the smooth trickle of water ran over her scarred skin. Annabeth immediately felt ashamed, but cutting was the only way she could cope with the sadness and anger she felt towards her dad and stepmom. There were emotions even she didn't recognize, emotions nobody could understand. The cutting had started when she was taking a shower. She had been shaving her arms and the razor nicked on her left wrist, creating a scab. It hurt, but Annabeth had heard so much about how cutting made people feel better. She couldn't help but be curious if it could make her feel better too, do she tried it again. And again. Her dad was too busy with work to notice much about Annabeth, and if her stepmom had noticed she hadn't mentioned it.
Annabeth's life drastically changed on the day that she'd gone to visit Sally. She had taken a bus into the city, making sure to wear a long sleeved shirt. Her attempts to cover her scars were in vain, however.
"Annabeth, could you grab the ceramic bowl in the cabinet, please?" Sally had asked as they stood side by side in the kitchen.
"Sure," Annabeth had replied. As she reached up, her sleeve slipped down her arm and uncovered her wrist. Annabeth grabbed the ceramic bowl hastily and passed it to Sally, biting the inside of her mouth and hoping Sally hadn't been looking. Sally hadn't made any indication that she had seen Annabeth's wrist, and Annabeth breathed a sigh of relief. Her relief was short lived, however. No sooner had they sat down at the table when Sally had told her that she would have to tell Annabeth's father what was going on. As a result, Frederick and Mrs. Chase decided to send her to a psychiatrist. Annabeth hated it. Hated, hated, hated. She didn't want to talk about her feelings. Why should she share such personal things with a person she didn't know? And why should she trust the person to help her?
*WHAP* was the sound Annabeth's door made as she shoved it against the wall after hurrying into her room, tears streaked down her face. Another fight with her parents. She slid down the wall, clasping her hands against her face and trying to stifle the loud sobs racking her body. She didn't want her parents to hear her and thiWasserstein was pathetic for crying, so she opened the closet door and stepped in, shutting it behind her. Annabeth had a very small closet, mostly taken up by haphazard sweaters thrown carelessly on the floor. The darkness was unnerving at first, but it grew strangely comfortable after a while. Annabeth sat against the wall and waited. She didn't know what she was waiting for...for her parents to care about her? While she waited, she thought. She thought about how she had always struggled with insecurities, and how she sometimes just wanted her life to end. Not sometimes, she realized, always. She wished to die. She didn't want to do it herself, she thought, she just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. Annabeth grabbed her phone and went on safari, the screen casting an eerie glow on the closet walls. 'How to commit suicide,' she googled.