We lay together in his bed, he was fast asleep behind me and holding my waist with his head in the crook of my neck (it remained there from when he kissed my neck as to say goodnight). His little bro Dave had been sleeping for a while, and so had Bro, but my thoughts wouldn't leave me alone.
I suffer from severe anxiety and depression, and no one really knows because I am probably the best actress when it comes to hiding my true emotions. Bro hates when I bottle up my emotions, because he knows how bad I can get. Bro and I have been together for almost a year, and I can't believe he has never seen my scars yet. I do hide them really well though.
I don't deserve Bro... He's kind, funny, cocky and so very handsome. He takes care of me and truly loves me. I don't understand though. I'm just some unstable, fat, loser who is probably going no where in life. He's a southern angel, I'm just a plain girl. I resist the urge to get up and go to the bathroom to do something...
As I lie for probably another hour awake, with Bro wrapped around me, the razor I hide in the bathroom taunts me. The demons inside my mind are driving me insane. I try to move so I can stand up and get to the bathroom, but once I try Bro stirs, and grips me tighter, muttering something along the lines of a very drowsy "I love you". I wince a little, still unfamiliar to the words. "I- I have to pee, Bro." I whisper, getting him to groan slightly and loosen his arms around me, allowing me up.
My feet slap against the floor, and I opened the bathroom door that has been only a few feet away the whole night. I take one look at Bro before I close the door and I find him looking at me, very sleepily... But there's something more to the look... That I just can't place. I lock the door and roll up my left arm sleeve.
I take a glance at myself in the mirror and cringe inside. My makeup was smeared a little and my hair was in a messy bun still. Normal for sleeping, but just on me it looked bad. Everything on me looks bad. "So ugly," I whisper to myself, and advert my eyes from my reflection and turn to open the medicine cabinet. I pick up my bottle of anti-depressants that Bro insists I take a keep a spare bottle here. Under it was my sharp friend.
Without a second thought, I hold it with a vice-like grip and apply a forceful amount of pressure as I drag it deep on the inside of my arm over and over without stopping. I never have cut much on my arms, it's too hard to hide. But as I do it now, I realize why most people cut there; it hurts a lot more. I deserve to be in pain. Within seconds, blood is everywhere. I can smell it, and feel it trailing down my arm more. A plentiful amount drips onto the ground and I gasp, "Fuck!" The bleeding doesn't seem to be halting, but I'm not worried about it. I was more worried about it getting everywhere. I mentally kick myself, I should have done this is the bathtub. I wrap toilet paper around my arm and then start to clean the floor, but it's staining the white tile. The gashes quickly bleed through the thin toilet paper. I grabbed the flower-scented soap and squirt it on the floor, then scrub. It sorta comes off, it's barely noticeable. I almost fell over, dizzy and it took me a few to stand up again.
As I get the bleeding to stop and stand back up (leaning heavily against the counter), I re-wrap some bandages on my arm and everything just smells like flowers. Flowers and something else. My blood. But no one would know it was my blood, so I didn't worry. I roll my black sleeve back down, covering the bandages. I didn't know how much time passed, but when I unlocked the door, Bro was sitting on the edge of the bed on my side, and locked eyes with me.
"Why are you still awake, hun?" I asked, trying not to sound nervous or weak. He ignores my question, "Are ya okay, baby? You're really pale." He beckons me over to him, and I am scared to be close to him while I am in my current state. I slowly make my way to him, slowly because if I were to go any faster I would probably fall over. "I'm perfect Bro." He pulls me to him and holds my waist. Instinctively I rest my hands on his shoulders. He sniffs the air around him suddenly, and his face twists a little. I want to snap my hands back to my sides. No doubt he smells the flowers... and that something else. He asked me about the smell suspiciously, and I just told him it was a perfume. I really thought I had him fooled, and he got up and went to his side of the bed to lay down again. I sighed quietly in relief, and got into bed next to him.
He put his arm around me and I curled up to him. He grabbed my arm, trying to re-position and I yelped. Bad arm. "Are ya okay?" His grip on my bad arm tightened, he was testing me. I looked into his eyes, tears were in mine, he relaxed consciously. He knew. He yanked my sleeve up, revealing the bandages with blood stains. He looked back down at me into my eyes again, and pain was written across his face. I closed my eyes and gulped, "I- I know what you're thinking... They're cat scratches. I-" He cut me off, "Do ya think I'm stupid, _? I..." He just stopped talking and started to unwrap the bandages. "Stop touching me." I hissed and tried to yank my arm away and stand up. He was stronger though and kept a firm hold on my wrist, not allowing me to get up this time.
He breathed in and out a few times, removing more of the bandage, looking at me in my eyes deeply. "_, do you know how much I care about you?" I didn't answer and I looked away, not being able to keep his gaze anymore. "You really are my whole gosh-darn world, princess." I wanted to smile when he called me princess, but then a light drag of the remaining bandage off my arm jerked me back to the situation. His breathing hitched when he uncovered my arm fully. My whole arm covered with the red stripes. "I... I need you to count all the scars on your body."
I instantly began to think of all the places I have ever cut. My stomach, inner thighs, upper thighs, my shoulders, my sides, and my knees. All places I thought I he had never seen. I decided to lie, "This is my first time cutting so these are the onl-" I was interrupted again. "Don't lie to me baby girl. I've seen them on your legs. I've seen them on your cute little stomach. And from all those times I've tickled you; I've seen them on your sides." His southern accent was really getting to me. I made sure to definitely avoid his gaze now too.
Moving on, I asked, "Why? Why do you need to know?" He gently caressed my face and moved my face so I was forced to look at him. "Every scar and every cut was caused when I wasn't there for you. I need to see how much I've let you down and neglected you." He had the saddest and most heartbreaking face at the moment.
Did he... Did he really think it was his fault? I wanted to literally scream. How could he think that? I wanted to say everything on my mind at that one second but I couldn't actually form the perfect words. He just looked at me, waiting for some kind of answer or something along the lines. "You... I... My own stupidity is not your fault hun... I..." I didn't notice tears falling from my eyes. I knew he wasn't going to believe me. He wiped away my tears with the pad of his thumb, but more tears fell. I turned into him and hugged his chest tightly, hiding my face in his shoulder. Before I knew it I was sobbing into his shoulder and he just hugged me to him, whispering little things into my ear. "I don't know where I'd be without you.", "I love you.", "Please never hurt yourself again.", "You can talk to me whenever.", "I never want to lose you.", and more. I started to feel calmer because of his words and my sobs turned to a few tears. I looked at him, "Do you really mean all that Bro?" He gave me a small smile while wiping away my final tears, "Of course I do, Princess." This time when he called me princess I actually smile and place my lips to his.