Scars Within

Chapter Five---Crimson Red

 But what did Chloe mean, I made a move on Adrien? I was in my room all day yesterday, and I've tried before, it doesn't work. And someone told her? Maybe I can get more information out of her, I guess I can try at least.

As I approached the end of the staircase to try and talk to Chloe I overheard Alya and Nino talking about someone, like, in a bad way.

"She's so annoying, I mean, why does she have to come to our school?" Nino added to Alya's earlier comment.

"For real, she's not even pretty either, sorry sis but blue hair, that ain't it." Alya commented.

Blue hair.

Who else in this school has blue hair, other, than me?

"And that pink bag she carries around? Bleh!" Nino said.

Pink bag. Now I know that it has to be me. My eyes started to water.

"I can't believe she thinks that she could ever get with Adrien!"

Wow. Now they're just saying it straight. They hate me. I felt hot tears start to fall down my face. As more fell I tried to run past the two, but bumbled into Alya and fell over. By then It was obvious that I was crying, my face was red, my mascara was smeared, my eyes were puffy, and I was sobbing. Loudly, and annoyingly.

"Oh my god girl what happened? I knew something was-"

"J- just shut u- up! I h- h- heard you guys t- talking!" I yelled as I got back up and continued to run. I ran to the bathroom and into a stall and slammed the door closed, locking it before I sat down on the toilet. All I did was sob and cry at first, but then I remembered the small blade from a broken sharpener I shoved in a little box in the bottom of my bag this morning..

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

I pulled the box out, opened it, then removed the blade from inside. I sat the box back in my bag, my stupid, ugly bag, and sat it aside. I rolled my sleeves up. No one would care whether or not I cut, in fact, most would be happy that I did. I touched the blade to my skin like the day before, and again. Dragged it across my arm. I went over past cuts also, which hurt more. But that didn't make me want to avoid doing it, it made me want to do it more. I layed the edge of the blade on a scab from the previous cuts, pressed down, and dragged it until the cut reopened. The razor blade was sharper than the knife's blade, making it cut deeper, and hurt worse. Which I enjoyed. How does this logic make sense? The more pain the better it feels? I honestly had no idea, but I knew that it was true.

Blood from my arm started to drip down onto the white tile, but I kept on going. I didn't stop until my entire arm was covered, and it was only for a second. I stopped, stared down at what I had down, smiled, and moved onto the other arm. I did the same things the other arm. I took the blade, touched it to the end of a scab, and dragged it open. I did it with every cut. And just like the other arm, I moved onto the bare skin around the day-old cuts once I had reopened all of the previous cuts. And again, just like the other arm, blood started to flow out and drip onto the floor. Once I noticed the puddles below me, I once again smiled. Red is such a pretty color, especially this red. What shade was it? Crimson, yes, I think so. It's so pretty, prettier than pink, by far. I kept going. Touch, press, drag, lift, repeat. That was my routine. I was like a robot set on repeat. It was just like this morning.