Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
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 ignore my problem than help me.
There is always the option of transferring somewhere else, but I doubt that would happen midway through the semester. I may just have to deal with Jackson for a little while longer. I can do my best to avoid him and hope for the best.
The next morning, I get up early and meet my parents at a local diner near campus. I’m both happy and sad that they’re leaving today. Happy because my dad hates me, but sad because they are still my family, and at least my mom pretends to care about me.
When I walk into the diner, I find them sitting at a horseshoe-shaped booth. They’ve ordered coffee already, and one for me as well.
“Good morning, sweetie,” Mom greets as I slide into the booth, taking the seat beside her. Dad doesn’t even look up from the paper he’s reading. I really don’t want to react; I just want to push my anger toward him down, but I’m tired of being treated like garbage every time he sees me. I’m still his daughter.
“I ordered you a coffee, eggs, bacon, and toast with strawberry jam. I hope that’s okay.”
I nod and pour some cream and sugar into my coffee, stirring it with the spoon. Taking a sip of the coffee, I let it warm me all over before I set the mug down.
“Are you feeling better today?”
“Yes.” It’s the truth. I’m feeling much better today, but only because I cut myself last night. I always feel better afterward. It’s like I’m cleansing myself when I do it.
“Good. We stayed for a little while longer and then went back to our hotel. Trish and Ken were sad that you left without saying goodbye. I told them you weren’t feeling well.”
Taking another sip of my coffee, I try not to feel guilty for walking out without even saying goodbye. They poured their hearts out to me, told me they loved me and missed me, and I disappeared to use the bathroom, and never came back.
“Personally, I’d prefer if you kept your distance from them. We just got settled into this new place. I don’t want the past to get brought up all over again,” Dad adds, finally glancing up from the paper. He doesn’t look at me as he speaks though, more like through me, as if I’m not even there. I curl my hand into a fist beneath the table.