Ashton's POV
Recap:
"Tell me everything. Take your time."
"O-okay. If I'm g-going to do th-this," I swallow, trying to compose myself, "You h-have to promise n-not to interrupt or question a-anything. J-just let me t-talk. I have t-to say it all a-at once or I won't say it at a-all." I finally got my sentence out with a shaky voice, looking at Luke for confirmation.
"Baby, it's okay. Tell me everything. I'm not going to judge. I'm not going to interrupt. You don't need to be nervous. Just tell me everything."
I nod, composing myself, ready to start my story.
-
"It started in 3rd grade. I stopped caring. I stopped feeling. Nothing mattered. But for some reason, I knew no one could know. I knew not to tell anyone.
So I kept it a secret. I stopped caring about anything I did, but in order to keep it a secret, I kept going through the actions of everyday life, but I didn't feel it. I didn't care.
I also stopped sleeping. I was lucky to get 2 hours of sleep a night and even when I did sleep, I didn't feel it. It felt like my body slept, but my mind didn't.
I would wake up and still feel exhausted, so I would try to sleep again, but my body would scream no. So I would try to get up and my mind would scream no. It was a battle with my own thoughts and I didn't know what to do. I still don't.
That went on for some time before I reached 4th grade. I started cutting myself. I remember the first time I did it.
I went downstairs and got a disposable razor. I brought it upstairs and tore it apart. I broke the blades out and threw the rest of it away.
I stared at them for long minutes before setting 3 of them down on my bedside table and holding the other 1 in my hand. "
I swallowed.
"I rolled up my pant leg so my thigh was exposed. I placed the blade down on my skin and dragged the corner from my knee to my panty line once.
It was like releasing a breath I had been holding in. For the first time in a year or more, I felt something. Even if it wasn't a good feeling, it was a feeling. And I knew I deserved the pain as well.
What kind of person can't feel? Yunno. I was a freak. I still am.
But I remember cutting my leg up and down, side to side, 24 times. Then I told myself 1 more and 24 turned to 47. Then I said 1 more. I ended with 97 cuts.
My entire thigh, knee to panty line was covered in blood. And I smiled at the sight. I smiled..
Then I took out a pink nail care case I had and hid the blades in there. Then I put them in my pillow and went to sleep.
And I remember sleeping. For real. I actually slept. And it woke up feeling the sleep. Then I felt the stinging on my leg. And I loved it. I loved it so so much. So night after night, I did it again and again and again.
It only got worse and worse. Cutting started not being enough. Around 7th grade I started burning and bruising myself as well.
And the cuts got deeper, but nothing stopped the voices anymore. Nothing could make me sleep.
In 8th grade, I began starving myself. I skipped meals and when I did eat, I would force it up my throat again.
I felt fat and disgusting. I still do.
In 9th grade I started getting these thoughts.
Thoughts about the end.
I would see myself step in front of a train, and smile.
Picture myself swallowing all the pills, and smile.
Think about my body hanging lifeless from the ceiling fan, and I would smile.
I couldn't get those thoughts out of my head.
They were always there. Screaming at me to do it, but I didn't. I never did it.
I've been so close. I've stood at the train tracks and waited, but when the train came, I only took a step back.
I've had the pills poured out on my bed before and I remember starting to shake and cry then I put them back in the bottle and layed back down. Then I stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out why I couldn't do it.
I still don't know why I can't. Maybe I don't deserve death. Death is a sweet release. This could all be over. Maybe I'm not good enough for it. I don't think deserve it. I deserve to be stuck here, in this life.
It is terrible. And now all these things are added up. The cutting. The burning. The bruising. The insomnia. The starving. The depression. The suicidal thoughts.
All of it.
And I can't take it anymore. Everyday I get closer and closer to just taking the pills and watching the world fade, but something is stopping me.
They want to tell me it's hope. Hope that it will get better, but it's not. Not at all.
I think it's fear. But not fear of death. Fear of what would happen if I failed.
Everyone would know. They would treat my like a fragile plate that shouldn't ever be broken. But they don't get it. I'm already broken. I'm beyond broken. I'm that thing in the box marked fragile in storage but they never bothered to keep me safe.
You never came to check. I fell over years ago and one day you just came and saw me. I was on the ground. Spread everywhere. Smashed. Now you're trying to fix me. But you can't. You just can't.
I'm already broken.
And they finally came out to see me broken, and they're trying to fix it, but I'm to far gone. And they can't do anything now.
Then there's my family. I love them so much. But it's never enough. It never was.
With my dad, we were so close. He never knew anything about me, but we were so close.
With his sickness he would go through phases where he didn't know any of us that well. He forgot everything. His life, to him, wasn't his life. He didn't remember us.
We scared him. But I didn't. He remembered me. But now he's gone. And my mother. I love her to death, but she doesn't know when to stop.
She has work, a family of 6 to feed and care for, but it's like somewhere along the way, she forgot how to be a mom.
So I'm at home taking care of all my siblings. I play mom. I had to grow up way to fast.
My mom is never home. She's always out getting drunk or fucking some random guy.
So I cook and clean and raise my siblings.
Then there's school. I take some damn hard classes. I really do. I mean come on. You know I do, you're in all of them. Those are hard classes.
And I can't lose my 4.0. They would question it. Do you know how stressful that is?
I'm raising a family. I'm keeping a top of the line GPA. And I'm dealing with all this inside shit. I'm stressed. And I can't take it. I can't.."
I was in tears and that was the end of my story. I told the entire thing staring into his eyes and he stared back into mine.
"I'm done." I squeaked out, remembering I told him not to say anything until I was done.
"You're not alone anymore. I'm going to help you. As soon as your siblings move down here, I'm gonna be here.
Everyone needs some help. So I'll be here. I'll help you cook and clean. I don't really have to do anything at my house anyway.
My mum deals with most of it. So I could use some training for the future anyway."
He winked at me and chuckled a bit before letting me know he was serious. "I know that has to be stressful. I mean cooking for 6. Wow. And cleaning up after them. It's a lot. So I'm gonna help. And we're in the same classes this year. So let's be study buddies. And as for the rest of it. I'm not sure how I'm gonna help, but I will. Okay? I promise. When do your siblings move up here?"
He is being completely serious. I can't let him do that. This is my life. I can't learn to rely on the help. "Ashton. I know what you're thinking. I want to help. I really do."
He smiles at me and pulls me in for a hug.
"Next week. They come on Saturday. They were staying with my aunt until everything got settled and I got everything unpacked." I say into his shoulder, my voice slightly muffled by the cloth.
"Well, I can't wait to meet them." He says back.