What We Take Away

Chapter 7 | Cassie

September 13th, 2005

The room ripples with laughter. Everyone I know is present. The room is filled with friends from school, familiar faces from childhood. There's music, games, and food, a party of some sort. What are we celebrating again? I can't remember... I try to relax and join the fun, but no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to connect with anyone. Why is everyone so happy?

I know this place. I know these wood-paneled walls, this retro bar that serves as storage and collects dust. I've been here before, in the basement of a high school friend. Suddenly, I'm fourteen again, which must mean...

"What's wrong with your arm?"

My friend Gene takes the stool next to me, gesturing to my arm. He stares at the map of angry, red lines on the inside of my left arm. I glance down and realize that I've forgotten to wear a shirt with long sleeves. I'll just deny it's there.

"It's nothing," I reassure him in what I hope is a nonchalant way. Gene doesn't believe me and grabs my wrist. His eyes widen with horror as he realizes my injuries are self-inflicted.

"Why?" he exclaims, pleading. "Why have you done this to yourself?"

I try to snatch my arm away, but his grip is tight.

"You wouldn't understand," I retort. "Unlike me, you have nothing to hide."

How do I tell him that I deserve this punishment? How do I tell him I'm not good enough? How do I begin to explain that, though the physical pain of the blade is intense, the relief is instantaneous? That, though the cuts leave ugly scars, I prefer them to the emotional wounds that no one else can see...

"Leave me be," I tell him, wrenching my arm away. "I'm not worth it."

"Bullshit," he snaps, but his face begins to blur. The music fades, and one by one the people around us begin to disappear.

"Gene?" I ask to the darkness. "Is anyone there?"

I jolt awake with panic. Not this again.

My cheeks are wet with tears I didn't realize I was crying. I blink them away, trying to wake up. Drawing deep breaths, I use cues from my room to ground me back to reality. Sabrina's alarm clock. My guitar against the wall. The weight of my blanket over my body.

A dream. It was just a dream. Most of the scars have long faded, and I am no longer that person... but I'm haunted, nonetheless.

Instinctively, I lift my left arm and run my fingers over the now-smoothed skin. Only one particularly stubborn scar remains, a slightly darkened spot serving as a reminder of a narrowly avoided path from my past. I shudder as I feel a phantom itch in my arm, beckoning me to taste a relief that I now know is both temporary and deceptive. I rarely experience phantom itches anymore so why now, after all these years?

I drop my head back into my pillow and close my eyes.

Back then, Ba was under constant stress to outperform his colleagues and he worried incessantly about how he'd fund our college bills while sending money back home to Nai-nai in Taiwan. His temper became explosive and his standards for our academic performance leapt to new highs. Ma and Lex and I dealt with it in our own ways. Ma was codependent, appeasing Ba however and whenever she could. Lex silently bore the blows and screams, but he was so softhearted that the tears would spill anyway. I never intended to make cutting a habit -- but it became my outlet when the pressure was too much.

There's a cost to being in control, and at the time the sting of the blade felt like a small price for me to pay.

Eventually, the scars became harder and harder to hide. By the time my ge-ge Gene discovered my secret, I was too tired of hiding to lie to him about it. If there are angels among us that walk the earth, Gene was mine. I would not have healed if he did not give me his friendship that year.