Before you read, I'd like to warn you that this may contain possible triggers. This isn't a story about crazy kids being dumped into an insane asylum. This is about real problems that real people deal with. I'm going to make the story as accurate as possible; some of this is even based on real experiences. That being said, please leave feedback so I'll know how to improve. I love reading reviews and they make my day even better!
Thank you.
Chapter 1
Sometimes in the morning I wake up and I can't move. My body is awake, but my eyes are squeezed shut as I dread the oncoming day. I finally end up tossing onto my side, desperate to escape reality for a little while longer, when my bedroom door is thrust open. It's just my dad. He tells me to get dressed so we can leave early for the supermarket. Before I can respond he is already gone. I decide to ignore his urgency and stay curled in my blankets a little while longer. I space out for a while, staring out the window beside my bed into the glaring sunlight. I must have been laying there for a long time, because dad's already back. Frustration makes my throat close up and my chest throbs; can't this guy give me a break? I argue with him until the front door slams shut and he leaves without me. Good riddance is what I say. Tears well into my eyes and I wipe them away, feeling even worse. I drag myself up and sit on the edge of my bed, gazing at nothing while vague thoughts drift through my head. I blink and continue to the bathroom on wobbly feet; I haven't ate anything in a few days. I immediately step onto the scale and scowl at the results.
I hate the number looking back at me. I feel this huge rush of emotions, it's like nothing I have ever experienced before. I curse at myself out loud and rush out of the bathroom. There's this horrible, horrible ringing in my ears. I want to hit something or just start balling my eyes out. Then, I see my flip blade sitting in a decorative coffee mug on my desk. Dad's at work a lot and he can be gone for hours at a time, so it probably seemed reasonable back then to let me have something to protect myself with just in case anything bad happens. I grab it and pull up my sweat pants, revealing my pale thighs. I press the knife to my skin very gently. My heart is pounding and I'm not sure if I can do it. I quickly lose my nerve and sprint back to the bathroom to get a razor instead. Those are much easier to use than knives, I think. I uncap a clean razor and slide it across my thigh, hesitant at first, but much more vigorously as small cuts start to form. I carve up my thigh several times until I am sufficed with what I have done. Tears stream down my face; thoughts of my dad yelling at me if he ever finds out comes to mind.
I feel panicked, especially when the blood won't stop flowing. No matter how much pressure I use there seems to be an endless amount of blood. The wet rag I had been using has turned completely red. I open the medicine cabinet one handed, the other still pressed to my thigh, and pull out a box of band aids. I tear them off their wrappers and place them side by side, cut over cut, until all of them are concealed from view. I roll my pants down and hurry to the kitchen to throw the bloody rag in the trash. It needs to be taken out anyway, so I'll do it. Dad will only see it as a good deed. I gather the trash bag and take it outside to put it by the curb. Once that's all done, I feel a little more relieved. Okay, now back to the bathroom. The razor doesn't even have that much blood on it. I rinse it off in the sink and stow it away in the cabinet with the other unused razors. Then, I replace all my band aids for extra caution (wouldn't want blood to start running down my leg or something). I sweep all the garbage into the toilet and flush it away.
There. All the evidence is gone. It's like it never even happened.
I go about my usual routine: feeding my gecko Casey, skipping breakfast (because since it is dad's off day he'll expect me to eat dinner with him), and I go through my homework again just to make sure it's all finished. Dad arrives home and he calls for me. I come into the kitchen as he is putting away groceries. He says he feels really silly about arguing with me earlier and that he'd like to make it up to me. He pulls out a movie ticket to the latest Nicholas Cage film that was just released yesterday. I take the ticket in silence.
"Thank you." I manage.
Dad grins, but it ebbs a little when he asks if something's wrong. His concern touches me to the deepest recess in my heart. My thigh burns like hell now. Hands shaking, I smile back, feeling like the guiltiest, most worthless person in the entire universe.
"Everything is fine."