A/N: I know this is super cliche, but it's also a short story and written for two reasons. First, I wanted to write something that wasn't a player falls for ____ or a romance. Second, I wanted to spread awareness for this kind of thing. So it's very short (after this, there are two chapters), and the end of this chapter is cliche. Just a warning.
Chapter 8 – As Time Went By.
I was supposed to tell him. Just over two weeks ago, I was supposed to have said something to Brandon, told him everything, but I hadn't been able to. He'd made me happier, and I knew he was happy. So why did I have to tell him?
I hadn't cut at all in the past couple of weeks, and it was starting to make me jumpy. I was getting paranoid about everything, and that was why I needed to tell him. I felt like an addict trying to recover from drug usage, but I was keeping inside. It was like I was too... normal.
I didn't know what to do, because every time I tried to cut, I thought of Evie, Brandon, John, Michelle... They wouldn't want me to, and that put me off.
However, I needed the release. I could feel it building inside of me every day, like a time-bomb just waiting to explode.
“Are you okay?” Brandon asked me, making me jump in my seat. We were sitting at lunch, the Friday before some teacher Monday, and I hadn't been paying attention to anything. I'd been too busy subtly scratching my hand to try and get something out of it.
“Yeah, fine,” I said, smiling. I could talk more now, smile often. It was weird, having a friend that made me this happy and comfortable, but I liked it. I liked knowing he was there for me, even if his presence limited the amount I cut. It should have been a good thing, but I couldn't see the positives. Not cutting was making me worse. I needed it to survive, as ironic as that was.
“Maybe you should go to the nurse? You look a little pale.” Brandon frowned, reaching over to place his wrist on my forehead.
I backed away. I didn't want skin contact, not right now. What if his hand slipped and I revealed a scar? It was a long shot, sure, but I couldn't handle the risk.
“I'm fine, Brandon,” I repeated.
He nodded, the obvious disapproval in his eyes. He knew I was lying, but he was going to let it go because he was my best friend. He trusted me, though I knew he had no reason to.
“So, Evie wants to know if you could hang out with us on Monday? We have something going on over the weekend, so can you?” He asked, taking a bite of his pizza.
I nodded. “Sure, sounds good.” It wasn't like we were doing anything else on that day, I might as well see him then.
The bell rang as Brandon took a final bite of the pizza, and he sighed. “Great, more school. See you in an hour!” He got up and hugged me before waving and heading off to his next class. I knew he knew there was something up with me, and I knew he was leaving before he demanded an answer.
I grabbed my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. I wasn't hurting anywhere right now, which was an odd feeling. I had a couple of scabs, but other than that I was mostly scars. It was odd, not having to worry about bleeding out if someone bumped into me the wrong way.
It was also weird walking down the hallway and having no one stare at me like I was crazy. These days I was just another student, and that was because of Brandon. He really was amazing.
I got through my next class silently, actually answering a question out loud. There was the negative side; teachers also thought I was less likely to burst into tears over questions so now I was forced to pay more attention than I did before. That was good in the singular sense that it kept my mind off of the non-existent recent cuts.
By the time Art rolled around, I was getting desperate. I almost needed to skip class, but I knew Brandon would ask questions so I forced myself to go, forced myself to smile like everything was okay. I just had an hour, and then I could go. I could be calm again.
“Excited for the weekend?” Brandon asked me, and I nodded, my leg bouncing up and down quickly.
“Yeah, can't wait,” I told him, grinning. It wasn't real, not entirely, but the sentence was true. I was excited for the weekend, because I needed the damn release.
“So, Monday, I'll pick you up at nine?” He made it a question, but I knew he would do it anyway.
“Sounds good.” I couldn't sit still. I tried to focus on the day's assignment – use shading to show the difference between happiness and sadness – but I couldn't. All I could think about was getting home to where I was free.
“Seriously, are you okay?” Brandon asked, as I screwed up again. All I was trying to do was make the paper go from white to almost black using a pencil and different levels of pressing it to the paper, and I couldn't even seem to do that.
“Fine, Brandon,” I said, hoping I didn't sound annoyed. I wasn't mad that he was concerned, but the way I felt right now could mean I would snap at him for no real reason.
“Okay, just wanted to make sure.” We were both quiet for the remainder of the class. I turned my paper in with five minutes left and packed up my stuff while I waited. A minute before the bell rang, I told Brandon I'd see him on Monday. The exact second it rang, I ran for the bus. I needed to get out, and fast. I sat on the bus in my usual seat impatiently, muttering under my breath, “come on, come on.”
I had to go, I would run if I could, but it wouldn't help. It wouldn't be fast enough.
By the time the bus finally left the school, I was close to tears in need. Before now, the longest I'd been without had been around three days. Now, however, it had been almost three weeks, and I could feel the stress building inside of me.
Need release. Need release. Need release.
I couldn't think of anything else, couldn't get those two words out of my head.
Need release. Need release. Need release.
I'd never been more thankful that I lived close to the school. Reaching my house seemed like a blessing, and I found I had never run faster in my life.
My door was unlocked, I only locked it if my father was home when I left, and it was another thing I'd never been more grateful for.
Need release. Need release. Need release.
How had it gotten so bad throughout the day? I couldn't tell. Today was the last day I could give myself, I had to do it now. I had to. I couldn't handle not cutting anymore.
I went for my knife, only to realize I didn't have my bag on me. It was okay, I could get it on Tuesday. For now I'd use a kitchen knife. There was no other option.
I grabbed the knife and didn't bother to go anywhere else before making the harsh cut on my wrist. It stung, but it wasn't enough. So I did it again, a little higher up. Also better, but I needed it. I switched the blade from my right hand to my left, making another cut on my right arm, and sighed as I felt the sharp pinch. This was what I needed. I needed to see this.
I could feel the blood trickling off of my arm and onto the floor, even smell the faint metallic hint of it. I could see it forming a puddle. I was calm again, the blood was calming me down.
I heard the phone ring, but it sounded distant, far away. I frowned, trying to take a step to grab it, but I stumbled. My vision was hazy, and I knew right then I'd done something wrong. I hadn't been careful, hadn't thought, and this wasn't good.
I blinked twice, trying to stabilize myself, but it was no use. Everything was fuzzy, blurry, spinning out of control.
I hadn't wanted this. I hadn't wanted to end things this way. But if that's the way it worked, I could only hope Brandon forgave me for not telling him.
The phone stopped ringing, and I groaned, falling to the floor. I'd barely even made it three steps, but now I wasn't sure if I was even awake. Was I still alive? I couldn't be sure.
The phone started ringing again, but this time I wasn't sure if it was my imagination or something else.
I heard yelling, but it was so faded I wasn't sure if it was male or female. It could have been a robot and I wouldn't know. All I knew was someone was here, and there was a good chance I might make it out alive now.
“Andrea! Shit, why the hell did you do this?” The voice shouted, sounding distorted but closer. It was male, and an attempt to open my eyes showed... Brandon.
“I'm sorry,” I tried saying, but even I knew my voice was barely even there.
“Don't you dare die on me! Oh, my God, Evie, seriously, I'm driving her to a hospital. Tell mom and dad -,”
That was all I heard.