Cutting Deep

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The blaring loud shouts and screams coming from my iPod blasted my ears and overcame me. I could not think. I didn’t think of anything in my past, or in my future. The only thing on my mind now was the pain mixed with pleasure that was filling my body with this cut – this blade, my skin, my crimson red blood onto my bone white sheets…was everything to me right now.

That is when my iPod stopped to pause for the next song, and I heard my mom shouting my name from downstairs. I yanked the earphones out from my ears and rested a pillow onto the bloodstained part of my sheets. Hopping out of bed, I grabbed one of my hoodies to hide the cut and quietly crept downstairs.

There, I stood. Looking at him.

My father was dressed in mud-stained jeans with a loose white t-shirt. My mom was standing at the doorway, looking at me in that same worried expression she had when he had left almost eleven years ago. And me? Oh, let me tell you, I saw a puddle of water fill up my eyes, when I went to rush up the stairs.

‘’Please, Bianca, hon…your father wants to speak with you.’’ My mother called out for me, an almost teary expression in her voice.

I stopped moving.

‘’Karie, let me handle this. She’s my daughter.’’ I didn’t recognize his voice at first, that deep, husky sound. But then I realized it had been the same as always.

‘’She’s my daughter –‘’ my mother began to protest.

‘’I thought I wasn’t your daughter…’’ I trailed off. It was almost as if I was whispering to myself. I was sure he heard my remark, though.

‘’Bianca – that was a long time ago. Isn’t it time you…well, got over that?’’ He looked down at his rusty-colored boots, but I met his face.

This was my time to turn the tables.

‘’Really? Get over that? I will never get over what you did to me. If you think just stopping by in eleven years is going to earn my trust, my respect, my love back, you’re wrong!’’ I squeezed my previous cut – it burned against the fabric.

‘’Look, Bianca, I wasn’t expecting that at all. But I want you to know all those things I didn’t gain from you, you’ve gained from me. Bebe, I love you. And I was wondering…if we could take a cruise?’’ He asked hesitantly. He hasn’t called me my all-time nickname in a long time.

I looked to my mom for approval, but there was nothing hopeful telling her ‘’please?’’ in my facial expression. It was more of a ‘’I don’t think I want to. But I do,’’ expression.

She nodded once and shot a stare at my father. I motioned toward the parked car in front of our house, and he opened the door for me. He smiled at me, and I grimaced back.

* * *

I don’t know why I got into the car. But when I did, anger didn’t fill me – it was fright. I was frightened my mom would wash the sheets – and find my blood.

My mother thought I stopped cutting after she took me to one of these classes. She thought it would work, and I assured her it would, but in reality, deep down I knew it wasn’t going to work. Once a cutter, always a cutter. You stop for a moment, but after one little thing hurts you – it’s back to the blade.

The thing about cutting is the blade isn’t your enemy; it’s your friend. And it does everything for you. You don’t have to do anything but let it glide onto your skin. But when you’re calm, the cut burns. Or maybe it’s just me...

It took minutes before my dad finally spoke. I wasn’t going to be the first to spark the conversation – I didn’t make the mess, and I sure wasn’t going to clean it up.

‘’So…do you still…?’’ His voice faded. He clearly knew I knew what he meant.

Wrong foot to start on.

I looked out of the window, at the blurry shade of green from the blended trees – my arms were crossed over my chest.

‘’Are you going to tell mom?’’ I asked him, worried. ‘’If you do…she will put me in those classes. And I hate going to them.’’ It was one of those typical teenage sayings of mine – they popped up every now and again. I’m not really a typical teenager.

‘’No, I promise.’’

I sighed, scratching the black nail polish off of my nails. ‘’I do it sometimes. I’m better though.’’ I lied. I cut almost everyday.

He kept his eyes on the road. ‘’Your mom thinks you’ve stopped. You shouldn’t lie.’’

I mumble to myself. ‘’How would you know about ‘not lying’?’’ I have a feeling he heard me, because I saw him shoot me a look from the corner of my eye.

‘’Look, it’s not your business. Mom is happier this way. That’s the way I want it. What’s it to you, anyways?’’

That’s when I realize.

‘’Has mom been talking to you?!’’ I gasp.

He pauses, then sighs, then answers. ‘’Okay. She has…your mother believes I’m a changed man…we’ve been seeing each other again. She…she wants me back in your life…and in hers.’’

I pounded the windows, but wished I could pound his face. If I were at home, I would run upstairs; take my blade and shred through my skin. I screamed, and growled, and I kicked. He pulled onto a nearby curb.

‘’Bianca, it’s okay…’’ He tried to sooth me. The only thing that could sooth me at this point is my knife and my iPod.

‘’No, it’s not okay! You’ve been a complete douche to her! And she just lets you in like that?’’ I put my face in my hands.

‘’Bianca, I have changed. Over eleven years, I’m a new, fresh man. I got help – anger management help. I cleaned myself up. Your mom and I wanted to wait till the time was right to tell you.’’

I opened the door and jumped out of the car. ‘’Screw you.’’ I said behind tears, stomping back home.

I could have sworn a tear rolled down his grubby face.

But I’m not sure.