Help Me Feel

Help Me Feel - Talking With Evie

Chapter 7 – Talking With Evie.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, frowning. I didn't have an answer, I didn't want to answer. Besides, she could be talking about something else. Maybe she thought I did drugs?

“I mean, what the hell do you think you're doing?” Evie repeated, and before I could again ask what she meant, she grabbed my arm and pulled the sleeve up, revealing the numerous scars there.

My breath caught in my throat, and I looked up at her, terrified. No one had ever guessed, no one had ever even begun to suspect. Yet in just a few seconds, Evie had figured me out. My mouth opened and closed, but I couldn't reply. What was I going to say?

“What? No answer? Does my brother know about this?” Evie was angry, to say the least.

I shook my head. “No. No one does,” I told her, quietly. I took my arm back, pulling the sleeve down until I was completely covered again. The thought really hit me then. She knew. How did she know? Brandon hadn't even realized, and we'd been hanging out for at least a week...

So I asked her. “How did you know?”

I didn't expect her reaction. She froze up, really looking at me. “I guess it's fair to ask. But you have to remember, this has only happened once,” she said, and as she rolled up her own sleeve, I knew what she'd done.

I was going to kill my throat, I was, but I was suddenly angrier than I'd ever been in my life. I hadn't been this angry at my father, my mother, even Anna, but right now Evie had the full experience.

There was a single line, a single scar, on her wrist. Not too big, and I could tell it was the first and only from the length; it was barely there, just enough to notice if she pointed it out.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I asked, quietly. I had to keep my anger in check, because I didn't have the ability to yell. I couldn't yell at Brandon's sister. I had only met her a few minutes ago.

“I don't know. I just knew I was upset, and I wanted to just throw something. Next thing I know my wrist is bleeding a little. I freaked out and covered it up, but after that I was a little calmer. I promised myself to never do it again. I spent the next week panicking every time someone even glanced at me funny,” Evie told me, looking into my eyes. “That's how I knew for you. I recognized the look of worry. Brandon probably doesn't see it, no one else does.”

I nodded, understanding a little. In the back of my mind, there was always that subconscious worry that someone would find my secret.

However, I was still angry. She had no right to want to cut. Ever.

“Now, back to you,” Evie began, and I saw her own frustration returning. “What makes you think of doing this, huh? What do your parents think?”

“My dad doesn't care,” I summarized. I didn't want to snap, because if I did I'd tell her everything.

“Of course he does, he probably just doesn't show it!” Evie insisted, as though she knew everything.

It was too late. I did snap. “No, he doesn't. I have a reason to cut because I was six-years old when my mother took a gun and shot herself. My father is an alcoholic who spends all his time working around the country and has barely said a word to me in the past twelve years other than to tell me I'm exactly like her. So don't you dare act like you know anything.”

Evie's eyes were wide, and I was surprised to see there were now tears inside of them, glistening but not falling. “Are you serious?” She asked, her voice low.