1 New Text Message: Hey, Morgan. Still wanna hang out tonight?
1 New Text Message: Morgan? You OK?
1 New Text Message: Morgan...?
1 New Text Message: I'm coming over
I sit on the floor of my bathroom with the lights off, just staring into the darkness. While my panic attack seems to have subsided, I can't stop myself from being overwhelmed with an intense feeling of self-loathing. I struggle to keep my mind from wandering back to the unfortunate event that happened earlier, hoping that by simply ignoring it, I'll be able to pretend that it never happened. That I'm okay. That I'm normal. I silently pray for strength, for the will to refrain from physically harming myself again. For the courage to deal with a bad day without resorting to making myself bleed. I pray to be brave enough to face my challenges in a healthier, less dangerous way. Hopefully, a less scary way.
Why am I like this...? I hate this so much...
But why didn't Ashton text me like she said she would...? I really thought she wanted to be friends...
"Morgan?" Ashton's voice calls from inside my bedroom. My entire body freezes at the sound of her voice, the air suddenly leaving me once more. For a split second, I'm terrified that I'll have another panic attack, but I'm quickly distracted from the thought by the sound of Ashton calling my name once more. "Morgan!"
What is she doing here?
"Morgan, your dad said you were in here, told me to come right up. Are you okay?" she says when I don't respond. I can hear the worry in her voice. It's faint, but it's there; it's as if she's trying to hide it. Like she knows that something has happened, and she's trying to keep herself calm to avoid freaking me out further. I instantly feel guilty for causing her pain, for making her worry about me. And for... what she's about to witness when she sees me.
"A-Ashton...?" my weak voice replies. I'm nervous to see her, to face her after... this. My mouth is controlled by the overbearing feeling of guilt, desperately wanting to soothe the pain I've caused my one and only friend.
"Morgan, I'm coming in there, okay?" I hear Ash say before the bathroom door slowly creaks open. She stands in the darkened doorway for a moment; the only light in the room is what little spills in from my bedroom through the partially opened door. Silence stretches between us as the two of us get used to each other's presence in this wholly unfamiliar and unexpected situation. While Ashton probably has no idea what she's walking in on, I'm sure she is preparing herself for the worst. "Can I turn on the light?" she asks quietly, but I don't miss the quiver in her voice.
I hesitate in answering, mentally debating what I should say or do right now. Sighing, I reply, "I guess." My voice is almost inaudible, the affirmation leaving my lips regardless of the fact that I want to say "no." I don't want her to look at me. To see what a complete mess I am. I don't want her to know that I'm so... utterly screwed up.
Ashton flips on the light, and her eyes immediately look over me, stopping on my bloodied and obviously mutilated thigh. "Did the bleeding stop?" she asks softly, quickly grabbing a towel from the countertop and wetting it in the sink.
"Yeah... it wasn't that deep... it didn't bleed long..." I respond, squeezing my eyes closed. Maybe if I can't see Ashton, she won't see what a complete disaster I am. Perhaps it will prevent her from hating me...
I feel stupid. And embarrassed.
And weak...
I'm sure Ashton won't want to be friends with me now... Why would she? I'm a freak...
Ashton crouches down in front of me, holding the wet towel in her hand. She lifts it up but doesn't yet bring it toward me, ensuring that I can see it before she makes any other moves. "I'm just gonna clean up the blood, okay?" she informs me before gently wiping the blood from my leg. I can't help but stare at her as she does so, my eyes searching her face for any indication of the disgust she must be feeling right now. When I find none, my face scrunches in confusion.
Why is she helping me? Why isn't she running away...?
"Okay, I think you were right; it's not that deep. I don't think you'll need any stitches, but we should probably disinfect it and bandage it up. Do you have a first aid kit?" Ashton says. I'm filled with even more confusion as I think over the words she's just said to me. I don't understand how she isn't running for the hills right now. Realizing that she's waiting for an answer, I nod my head and point to the cabinet under the sink. Ashton quickly grabs the kit and finishes fixing up my leg. "Are you ready to get up? Or do you need to sit here for a while?" she asks gently.
"Um... I just wanna stay here, I think..." I mumble. I have no idea whether or not she actually heard me or if my words were understandable at all.
She nods at me before sitting down next to me, leaning her head on my shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Morgan. I should have been here. This is my fault; I just... wasn't thinking."
"It's not--" I begin, but she cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.
"You can say it's not my fault, but I'm sure that you did this because of me... because I didn't text you like I said I would, and you were overthinking... so, in a way, it is my fault. I'm so sorry; I should have known better," she says, tracing invisible circles on my arm with her fingertips. "I'm here now, though. And I do want to be friends, and I do want to hang out today. Everything is okay now."
Everything is okay now.
Everything is okay...