(A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates; college life and applying to law school and figuring out what to do between when I graduate in December and when I start law school in fall 2012. Argh. See, I have to work hard and figure something out so I don't have to live at home for those nine months, but my family won't help me financially if I'm not home. It takes up a lot of my time, but I'm really trying to figure something out since my mother is in many respects like Emily's. Some dialogue and situations in this chapter are taken verbatim/nearly so from my own experiences.)
It was finals week, and Prentiss was cramming frantically in her dorm room while JJ was in the library finishing up her research paper. Finals were stressful for everyone, but especially Prentiss. She liked college fine, and schoolwork was easier now that she was away from her mother so no one was breathing down her neck, but still…she couldn't escape her internal critic.
You're so stupid. You're going to fail at everything. School, life, relationships…you're going to failfailfailfailfail. You're worthless. No one likes you, no one loves you. You'll never be successful. You'll never get into grad school. You're a disappointment to your family and JJ and everyone else around you. You're a bad person- vermin inside, like that Kafka story. Life will always suck for you. You're an idiot, a freak. You'll always end up alone.
She couldn't escape the memories either. Being with JJ, someone who loved her and looked out for her, and having gotten to know a great group of friends and JJ's family, had shown her what love really was. What good relationships looked like. It threw the way she'd grown up, all those years she'd survived, into sharp contrast. Growing up, she had thought the way she was treated was normal, right. But now she saw that it never was. There was a sense of loss, of pain, for her childhood, for who she was, for all the pain she'd endured before she could escape or know any different.
Emily was nine or ten; this had happened often enough that the years, the instances, had all seemed to blur together into one loud crack that reverberated in her through the intervening years, even now. Crack.
"Emily," her mother said in a soft, cold tone, getting louder as she picked up steam. "Do you see this? Tell me what it is. I know you get A's in English, so don't play dumb with me. I know you can be excellent, so that's why you make me have to do this."
Emily was shaking in her favorite blue sweater. She knew what was coming, but despite that, she never stopped feeling terrified at the confrontation that came once or twice a week.
When she got a B. Even on one assignment, not even a final grade.
She knew it would be worse if she didn't answer, and she wanted to head off the yelling. Maybe she wouldn't yell today if she was just…good. Behaved. Promised to do better. That was what she hated the most. The words.
A line from a song that had just come up on Prentiss's iTunes library caught her attention before she was lost in the memory again.
"Sticks and stones may break my bones/your words, they surely kill."
That was the truest thing she'd ever heard.
"It's an 88 percent, Mom. I'm sorry, I thought I understood it-" she paused, swallowing painfully around the lump in her throat. "I promise I'll study more next time…I'll be better."
"You'd better be," Emily's mom snarled. "But that doesn't change this grade, does it?" She was yelling by now. Emily wanted to cover her ears. "That can't be undone. So I think you need to hear, again, that grades are important. This is serious business!"
"I'm sorry, please…" The girl bit her lip to keep from crying, tried to make herself remember a part from "Anna Karenina," which she'd just checked out from the library a few days ago.
Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. All was chaos and confusion in the Oblatsky household, for Stepan Arkedyich was discovered to have been carrying on an intrigue with the French governess…
"Come with me. You know what we're going to have to do," Emily's mother said. On trembling legs, she followed her mother up the stairs to the master bedroom and stood by her mother's desk by the window. In the desk, they both knew, was a ruler. Her mother got it out, and with her other hand, pulled the curtain shut so no one would see what she was doing. Keeping up appearances was very important.
Emily knew that the ruler was only 12 inches; they all were, so they'd be useful for measuring things, but sometimes, it seemed in her mind like this one was as tall as she was.
"Refresh my memory. What's the cutoff for an A in this class?" Emily's mother demanded. "And don't lie, because I can talk to your teachers. Do you remember last time you lied and told me the cutoff was lower than it actually was? I found out at conferences and had to give you double the next time."
"93 percent," Emily squeaked.
"So that's five, then. Hopefully that's enough to help you remember how important A's are, and to make you try harder and be better next time."
Emily's mother raised the ruler, and Emily tried her best to take herself away. Maybe another book, a poem…think of something. Anything to keep from crying. Being here. Facing this. Her mind landed on something. Hamlet. Even if Emily was too young to understand Shakespeare or classic literature, she loved the language and would memorize random snatches.
"O, that this too too solid flesh would melt/Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!/Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd/Hiscanon'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!/
CRACK!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable/ Seem to me all the uses of this world!/Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden/That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature/Possess it merely. That it should come to this!/
CRACK!
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two/So excellent a king; that was, to this/Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother/That he might not beteem the winds of heaven/Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!/Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,/As if increase ofappetitehad grown/By what it fed on: and yet, within a month–
CRACK!
Let me not think on't Frailty, thy name is woman!–/A little month, or ere those shoes were old/With which she follow'd my poor father's body/Like Niobe, all tears:–why she, even she–/O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason/
CRACK!
Would have mourn'd longer–married with my /My father's brother, but no more like my father/Than I to Hercules: within a month/Ere yet thesaltof most unrighteous tears/Had left theflushingin her galled eyes,/
CRACK!
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post/With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!/It is not nor it cannot come to good:/But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue."
Emily came back to herself. A white-hot pain seared through her right hand. It was always her right hand, because she was left-handed. She needed to always be able to write. "Can I go now?" she asked.
Her mother nodded. Calmly, without crying or showing any hint of the pain, Emily walked to her room and gently shut the door. Only then did she grab her hand with her good one, massaging it, gasping for breath as the pain shot through her.
Prentiss was surprised to find that she was still in her dorm room. The need to cut filled her worse than it had since everyone found out, almost worse than any other time. But, glancing at the clock, she calculated she couldn't do it right then; if anything went wrong or it took longer than usual, she'd be late to take her final.
Prentiss got through her final, managing to focus on the subject, and came back to her dorm three hours later with the urge, if anything, increased. Luckily, she still had her blades. She grabbed her shoulder bag and headed to the one private bathroom with a lock, in the dorm basement. As quickly as she could, she locked the door behind her, cleaned a blade, and sat down on the cold tile. She couldn't cut her arm. JJ or her friends might notice. Finally, she decided. Prentiss wriggled partially out of her black skinny jeans, chose a place on her thigh, and plunged, carved.
Shit. This was not like the other times. There was too much blood, and she was starting to feel weak. It was all she could do, using tissues and paper towels, to keep herself from bleeding all over the floor. It was deeper than she intended. Dimly, Prentiss knew there was an artery somewhere in the general area of where she'd cut.
There was just enough cell service for her to send a text. JJ. Please, come ASAP. Help me. I'm in the downstairs bathroom of our dorm. I…it's too deep.
JJ got the text right away and dropped her research articles in the middle of the crowded library, only just remembering to place them on a desk before she rushed out. Five minutes later, Prentiss, who didn't want to stand because the wound might bleed more, managed to reach up and undo the lock to let JJ in.
"Emily….oh God, Emily." JJ, knowing Prentiss hated yelling, only just managed not to shout.
"What if someone finds out?" Prentiss mumbled.
JJ thought fast. "The school won't have to. I'm taking you to the ER, though. I'll call Garcia to get us."
Garcia's VW bug screeched up, parking illegally, less than ten minutes later. She drove crazily through the city, speeding and honking, until the three of them reached the hospital. Prentiss's lips were starting to turn blue, and when they walked in, she leaned heavily on both Garcia and JJ.
At intake, a tired-looking nurse asked, "What happened?"
"She…I…" JJ began, unsure of how much to reveal.
"It was an accident. I fell off my bike," Prentiss lied. "Accident."
(A/N: The song is "Words" by Between the Trees, and the book excerpts are named. I don't own them, or CM. I didn't mean for Prentiss to do this, I swear, the story just takes on its own life sometimes.)