all I can do is pass out from exhaustion.
14
Kennedy
The feelings are back, and I’m like a rock sinking to the bottom of them. He felt them, my scars, his fingers ran along the jagged, raised edges. He knows my secret, and he could tell anyone, my parents, his parents.
“What’s going on, honey?” My mother intercepts me as I come rushing around the corner. All I could think was to get away from him, to make sure he didn’t learn my secret, but that failed. He knows something is going on even if he doesn’t really know what it is.
Forcing myself to calm down and pump the breaks, I wipe away the tears from my cheeks and pretend as if all is okay. “I’m just really emotional right now and having a rough time after seeing Ken and Trish, that’s all. I think I want to go home.”
“We just got here though,” she says, frowning.
“You guys can stay if you want, but I feel sick. I’m going to go back to my apartment. Maybe we can have breakfast in the morning?” I try to lighten the blow of me leaving, and it must work because she smiles at me and gives me a hug.
“I would love that. I’ll call you in the morning, and we can see what’s going on.” She releases me, and I nod. I don’t bother saying goodbye to my father, it’s not like he cares anyway.
“Tell Ken and Trish I’m sorry that I had to leave, please.”
“I will let them know. Go home and get some rest. I love you,” she says and then turns around and walks back to the table. Standing there for a long moment, I realize that I could be screaming for help in the open, and she would never see it. Not because the evidence isn’t there but because she doesn’t want to see it. Unless I tell her flat out, she’ll never acknowledge it.
Needing to leave before Jackson shows his face again, or worse yet, opens his mouth, I walk back to my apartment, making my feet move as fast as they can without sending me to the ground. I try not to think of the anger I saw in Jackson’s features.
His hate for me grew in an instant. He thought I was making nice with his parents when he had no idea that I had nothing to do with it. It was all on them but telling him that wouldn’t change what already happened.
My chest aches, and I want to shut off the emotions I’m feeling. I thought maybe I was heading in the right direction, but Jackson ruined it all. He just had to touch my scars. As soon as I get into the apartment, I lock the front door, strip out of my clothes, and walk into the bathroom. Getting out the razors, I wonder if there will ever be a time when I can get through the emotions without needing pain. Pain covers it all up, it swallows all the sadness.
Plucking a razor from the container, I sit against the tub, spread my legs, and pick a spot to cut. My hand is trembling as I lift the blade and press it into my skin until blood beads against the edge of the razor.
Relief floods my veins as soon as I drag the razor across my skin, cutting through my flesh like a hot knife through butter. Euphoric pleasure pulses through me, and soon silence settles over my chaotic mind.
I’m back in my bubble, protected, sheltered from the storm of emotions. Making another cut, I hiss as the skin separates and a burn zings across the inside of my thigh. I’m not ashamed here. I’m not broken or sad. I am merely me. I drop the razor blade and let the endorphins consume me, feeling the warmth of blood against my thighs, and smelling the coppery tang as I breathe through my mouth.
After sitting there for a long while, I get up, clean the cuts, and wash my face before getting myself ready for bed. I feel lighter, free, and as I crawl into my bed, I consider talking to my parents about leaving Blackthorn. If I’d known that Jackson was here, I’m not sure I would’ve chosen to come here.
Still, if it comes down to staying here or going home, I’m staying. At least here, I don’t have to deal with how much my father hates me or face the fact that my mom would rather