All I Wanted Was You

Twelve

Hayley's POV 

I didn't see Josh at all that day. Despite the fact that Jack had talked to him during lunch-thus, he'd been there-I had not found him anywhere afterwards. It was as if he'd come and left right away. 

Consequently, my mood didn't improve at all. By the time the last class was over I still felt like bursting into tears. At least Emily was there for me. She let me cry on her shoulder yet again, which was immensely nice of her considering that was pretty much the only thing I'd done in her presence all day. She hugged me tightly and told me what people are usually supposed to say when somebody's bawling in their arms. "It'll be alright... Everything will get better..." I wanted to believe her. But I was so scared that I'd gone too far, that I'd lost him for good.  

I didn't understand why he hated me. Ok, so I shouldn't have forced his mom to spill his secret when it was obvious he didn't want me to know. But he'd been wrong! It was a good thing that I knew, right? I mean, I could help him now... Of course, I couldn't really help him if he avoided me all the time.  

Apart from that, all I'd done was try to understand... But I didn't understand how he could hate himself so much. I mean, even if he WAS fat-which he most definitely wasn't-what was the big deal? Why all this worry? Why did he have to hurt himself over that? Why was he so convinced that he was a horrible person when actually he was the nicest guy I'd ever known? I'd tried telling him-though maybe kissing him hadn't been the best idea-but he'd called me a liar... It would take a lot more than just words and a misplaced kiss to convince him.  

I had to try though. But first, I had to figure out a way to talk to him.  

Josh's POV 

I stared at the setting sun through my tiny window. My room was just as tiny, and a mess to top it all. I might as well have lived in a dump.  

But there was one thing that was always neatly tucked at the bottom of a drawer. Some days, if felt like my only friend. Days when I hated food, it was my other option, my escape route. This was one of those days.  

I took my eyes off the sun and reached for the little plastic box sitting under a bunch of socks and some old paper. I stared at it for a second before opening it. Was it really so wrong?  

In the past I used to have other ways of coping with all my shit feelings. Sometimes I would strum a few chords on my guitar and the pain would go away. But the more time passed, the less that seemed to work. I had reached the point where I went directly to the little box for help. 

I picked up one of the razors and held it between my thumb and forefinger for a second. Hey there, buddy. I pulled up my shirt. Instantly, the number of scars covering my skin hit me like a truck. Yet I knew about them, so why did it shock me? I hated those stupid scars. Why wouldn't they just go the fuck away?  

I looked back towards the window, discouraged. The sun was almost gone now. I felt a twinge of nostalgia as I thought of my old life. I missed my old school, I missed my old friends, I missed my old home. My only home. I missed my life before all this bulimia bullshit. I missed the times when it didn't matter what I looked like or how much I ate. That was a very long time ago. I had been diagnosed with these fucked up disorders long before I'd moved, but even then things had seemed easier than they did now.  

I stared at the razor again, and an idea hit me. A horrible idea. But as horrible as it seemed, I didn't push it away. I had nothing to lose. 

I pulled my shirt back down promptly. I didn't need to add any more scars there. This time, I was aiming at something else. 

I pressed the razor against the inside of my wrist for the first time. At the very top, right next to my hand. I started softly, but soon I was pressing harder than I should have.  

I thought about my mother. How she'd betrayed me as if all I'd ever told her didn't matter. As if my trust in her had been insignificant. I thought about Hayley. Her lies, her condescending attitude, her Jack...  

My wrist was burning. I didn't stop though. I could feel all my rage spilling out of me along with the few drops of blood dripping down my hand. Adrenaline filled me and I didn't feel the physical pain anymore. All I felt was excitement mixed with some kind of sick relief. And anger. Pure anger. No lies. I was used to that. I loved it.  

But still, I pushed it further. I pressed until the drops of blood gathered together to form little strips. I had never gone so far before. I knew it should've made me sick, but instead it filled me with a strange fascination. I watched the little strips stretch down on either side of my wrist or into my palm where they formed a little red puddle. For a second, I even smiled. 

And then I clenched my teeth and did the unthinkable. I tugged on the razor though it was already buried deeply into my skin. I knew what would happen then. 

I let out an involuntary gasp as my right hand dropped the bloody razor to the ground. This time I'd felt the pain. I didn't care though. I held out my left hand. With a disturbing calm, I watched the blood, MY blood, gush out of the wound at an incredible speed. Bright crimson spread into the bed sheets under me, down the side of the hard bed, across the floor and into the old carpet... 

And still, I couldn't bring myself to regret my decision. Instead all I could feel was relief. It would all be over soon. I'd passed the test.  

With one last effort I glanced at the window again. The sun was gone now. I would never see it again. And I accepted that entirely.  

Slowly, I closed my eyes and lay down on the bed. A few stray thoughts crossed my mind. My mother, my family. Hayley. But I let them go. And as they left, one by one, I could feel an utter peace filling me, like nothing I'd ever felt before.  

And then, finally, everything disappeared.