♡ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜱᴀʏ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ♡

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Here's a longer chapter as promised!

TW: this chapter contains abuse and violence.

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That night in bed, I was staring at the ceiling in the dark, taking in the various noises of the night through my open window. I heard the dogs barking, the cars rolling by, the laughter of a group of kids walking down the sidewalk. It wasn't long until I found myself drifting into sleep, into another memory.

It was the day after Jonathan had hit me. The boys talked me through my fears of breaking up with him, and I finally felt brave enough to do it.

I walked to the lot where he often hung out and I found him drinking. I wasn't surprised.

I took a deep breath and went over to him. He was alone, cutting away at a stick with his switchblade. It was about 6 inches long and had a red handle. A red wooden handle. I remember it to this day.

He saw me coming and his eyes lit up. He flicked the now-sharpened stick on the ground and met me in the middle by a makeshift fireplace, knife still open and in hand.

"Hey, baby," he said, tracing my face with his finger.

I shoved it away angrily. "Don't call me that!" I snapped.

He seemed shocked. "What do you mean?"

I glared at him, trying to look brave although I was scared to death. "We're done. I don't want a call from you, I don't want you to come up to me on the street, and I don't want to see you ever again!"

When he said nothing, I repeated myself. "We're done. We're over." I paused. "Goodbye, Jonathan." I turned to walk away, thankful that it didn't end in my getting hurt, but I had counted my chickens too early.

He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. "Don't do this to me, Cary! I need you!"

"Well, you should've thought about that before you hit me last night! And the night before that! And all of the other times you hurt me. How many times? I don't know, I lost count. All I know is that it ends today. We're done."

His eyes filled with rage again, the same rage from the night before.

I wrestled my arm away from his grasp when he said, "So this is it, huh? You're just leaving me, and we're through?"

"You're exactly right."

He clenched his jaw and I saw his grip around his knife tighten.

Then he raised it and swung it at me.

I put my hands in front of my face and I felt the cold metal pierce the palm of my hand. It was a thick gash, maybe about three inches long, almost cutting into my wrist. I looked at it, shaking.

"You...you cut me, Jonathan," I said quietly, in disbelief. I never thought he would go this far. "You cut me."

The tip of his blade was covered in my blood. He looked from it and then my hand in shock.

"You cut me!" I repeated, this time louder.

I turned and ran home.

"Cary, wait!" He yelled. "Come back! I didn't mean to!"

He kept on yelling at me, begging me to come back until I ran through the door of my house.

All of the boys, including the rest of the gang, were inside. As soon as I walked in, I felt my knees give out and I fell against the wall, crying hysterically, clutching my hand, blood running through my fingers. I wasn't crying because it hurt, I was crying because I was scared.