Saving Laurel

48. Games

Laurel Gilroy

I wake to my alarm, my sheet clings to my body. More specifically my side and as I flick my light on I see my sheets dotted with blood. The long sleeve shirt I wore to bed damp, a metallic smell hangs in the air.

Instantly I start to plot what to do about it. How to hide it. Panic rising up within me because how am I going to explain this? I can't let my mom find a bloody shirt in the hamper.

Peeling my shirt off over my head, I rush to my bathroom, balling it up and tossing it in the sink as I turn on the faucet. My arm is smeared with a thin coat of sticky red, the small bandage saturated. I peel it off as I inspect the damage I inflicted on myself the night before.

"Shit." I mumble, watching as one cut in particular weeps slightly. "Shit, shit, shit."

I don't even know where to start. Staring at my shirt, drenched in a pink water before shifting back to my arm that's marred with fresh angry lines.

What did I do.

But it doesn't take any hesitation for my mind to retrace to my steps the night before. To the memories. To Mason. To Wes.

I suck in a breath, silently telling myself that this is okay. I can cover this up. No one needs to know. I've got this. No one suspects anything anyway.

Phone. I need my phone.

I rush back to my room, grabbing my phone from the nightstand beside my bed without unplugging it. The cord pops as it's yanked from the end of my phone in my haste but I don't care. I'm already searching how to get blood out of clothes.

Thank you google. Cold water, did that. Scrub with bar soap, no problem. I pluck the milky white oval off the shelf in my shower and emerge my hands in the cold pink water. Scrubbing furiously at the light gray fabric, I start to see the stain fade and I breathe out a sigh of relief.

I catch my reflection in the mirror, staring at my blue eyes as they blink back at me. Their wide and fearful, the blue bright and alert because I'm always on edge. I've been on edge since Mason. My orange hair is a knotted mess, frizz sticking up everywhere, lacking a healthy shine to it. My skin covered in freckles, my lips dry.

I look every bit as broken as I feel.

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My eyes dart around to the throngs of students that surround me, I'm searching for Wes and his friends solely so that I can avoid them.

Wes.

So can avoid Wes.

Pulling my books tighter to my chest, I tuck my head and hide behind a towering underclassman as I pass by Savannah and James.

My heart picks up speed the closer we get to the corner Wes is sure to be around and without thinking I press the corner of my books into the inside of my arm. It stings but I take comfort in the pain as I avoid the boy with chestnut hair and hazel eyes.

Everyone but Savannah and James are there. The two lagging somewhere behind me but I'm not about to look. I don't want to draw attention to myself. Ducking my head, I speed up, slipping ahead of my underclassman shield.  I make it successfully past Wes and everyone else, relaxing slightly. It's then that I realize how hard my books are digging into my arm and shift them slightly sneaking a peek at the light blue material of my shirt. At some point during my shower, my arm dried up thank god.

My class's door is just up ahead and I let out a breath, silently celebrating a little too soon. Annoyance fills me as I feel a heavy arm land across my shoulder and I look up to see the crooked front tooth in Sawyer's smile.