*TRIGGER WARNING*
if anyone needs to talk or help with anything i'm always here :)
Dedicated to one of my best friends in the world who inspired this chapter. Stay strong babe.
Story of My Life
One more cut. Just one more slice across my skin. One more minute of release from the pain, and I will never do it again.
Once I convince myself before I can reconsider my choice once again, I slide the blade across the scarred skin of my wrists.
I hardly even feel the pain anymore. The first few times it stung and bled a lot. By now I have gotten good at it. I knew just how deep to cut to allow only enough pain to take my mind off the hell that lives behind the bathroom walls.
The blood is warm against my cool skin and the contrast of the cold tile floor I am laying on sends a wave of relaxation through me. I tilt my head back against the cool wall, breathing in and reveling in the calm release.
Up until now, I had been doing pretty good. It had been almost a full week since I have cut last. It's my new record.
I sit on the ground for a minute before standing up and grabbing a black towel that I can soak up my blood with without leaving a visible stain.
I rinse my wrist and put my collection of bracelets back on, effectively covering all evidence of the scars and scabs that littered my wrist. I slip on a jacket for extra measure. I check my make-up in the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place. Luckily, I usually don't cry when I cut anymore, so I don't have to worry about someone noticing tear stains or smudged mascara on my face. It takes a lot for me to cry anymore. I have just gone numb to pain. Anyways, there is no point in crying. It shows weakness and doesn't get you anywhere. It doesn't help fix the problem, so why waste my time with something so pointless?
Once I am sure I look presentable, I leave, walking through my bedroom and into the hall. I take a deep breath before putting on a fake smile and walking down the stairs. Once I reach the bottom, it only takes me a second to meet his gaze. I can do this. I can do this again.
His eyes still have their despicable glare in them, regardless of how genuine he tries to make his smile look. I've figured out how to look past the mask he puts on in front of other people a long time ago. I shift to look at my mother smiling at me as I walk closer to him, the same forced smile on my lips. At least he can behave himself in front of her. She has no idea what is behind that mask, and that is the best thing I can ask for in this situation.
He puts his arm around my waist when I get closer. "Hey, babe. Ready to go?"
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I wake with a jolt. My breathing labored and I can feel the tears streaming down my face. I shoot up in my bed, forgetting I have about a foot of space above me, and hit my head against the ceiling of my bunk. I clutch my head and lay back down carefully. It hurts like a bitch. The tears haven't stopped either. They are still flowing. It is like freaking Niagara coming out of my eyes.
It was a dream. No, it was a nightmare of the worst kind; a memory.
I haven't had one in a few days, luckily, but I guess I wouldn't be able to escape my past for long. It always comes back.
I don't even try to fight the tears as they come. I just lay with my head in my hands and let the salty liquids come down in silent streams, taking pieces of my pain with them and throwing everything I've gone through in my face.
"Aves? What are you doing awake?"
The voice startles me and I turn my head abruptly to see who said it.
When I see who it is, I wish I hadn't. Louis stands there before me, looking at me with concern. Luckily it's pretty dark, so he can't see that I'm still crying.
"Sorry, I had bad dream," I try to say strongly. My voice betrays me and comes out raspy and strained. "Why are you up?" I ask.
"I heard a bang from your bunk."
"Oh, sorry. I--uh, hit my head on the ceiling. I'm sorry for waking you up," I apologize, hoping he'll accept my explanation and go back to bed.
I don't see that happening, however, when his eyes narrow to look at me. "What's wrong Avery?"
"Nothing," I try to assure him as I try to wipe the tears from my cheeks.
"Come here," he says and opens his hand out for me to take. I raise an eyebrow at him, but know better than to think I will be able to get out of this.
I take his hand in mine and carefully step down from my bunk. When I'm firmly on the ground, he pulls me to the other side of the bus and brings me to sit down on the couch where he turns to sit crisscross, facing me.
"Now, what is really going on? I can see from your puffy eyes that you were crying. Was it the nightmare?" he asks, concerned. I feel bad for worrying him. It really isn't his responsibility.
I ignore my instinct to say no and run back to bed, since I know there's no way I'd get away with that. He won't give it up. Instead, I look down at our hands, still loosely entwined together, resting in the space between our laps, and give him a small nod.
He exhales, "What was it about?"
"A memory," I admit, looking up to meet his eyes.
A look of realization and understanding cross his features. I know he couldn't have known exactly what those memories were, but he could piece together enough to know it wasn't a simple bad dream, and it was no simple memory.
"Of what?" he gulps.
"I can't tell you," I admit.
"Of course you can. You can tell me anything. I would never judge you for anything you say to me. But, this seems like, I don't know, something that is weighing on you. It might be good to talk about it. I know you haven't know me for a long time, but you should know me well enough that that part is true."
I sigh, "Hailee is the only one who knows."
After a while passes in silence, I look up to him, waiting for him to say something.
"Please," he pleads after another second.
I sit there, studying the way the little amount of moonlight comes through the windows and brightens the sparkle in his green eyes. I've never believed what people say about the eyes being the window to the soul, but in this moment, I swear Louis' soul is looking straight back at me, showing me he can be trusted; that he is good and pure at heart. Am I seriously considering divulging to him the secret that I have kept hidden from all but my best friend? The only reason Hailee even knows about it is because she caught me doing it one night. She was the one who was able to help me stop. Am I ready to let someone else into my secret? Especially someone I have only known for a matter of days.
No. I'm not ready to let someone in. But, I think am ready to let Louis in.
"You really want to know?" I ask, trying to warn him and give him one more chance to reconsider before it's too late.
"Please."
I take a deep breath, preparing myself mentally to do something I honestly never thought I'd have to do again--explain my story.
"Okay, so, the slightly shorter version of the story is this: When I was in high school, I had this boyfriend. We went out for two years, and we were happy. I thought that he was perfect. I thought we were perfect. But, after sophomore year was over, about 2 months after our second anniversary, he changed. It was like he flipped a switch. Almost overnight, he was just... awful," I sigh, my chest tightening. "He... uh... he started t--to, you know... just like--beat me. And... um... just became really abusive, I guess. I let him get away it for... too long. I just kept telling myself he was going through something and that this wasn't who he was. That he would--we would--go back to normal soon, but... I don't know... he never did. He just got worse." I pause, taking a breath. "About six months after it all started, I began cutting myself."
"Oh, god," Louis sighs, bending his head down, placing it in his hands. I hear him swallow a breath and wait for him to gather himself before he looks up, his head still hanging low, signally for me to go on.
I take a deep breath before continuing, "I cut for the next year or so. I tried to stop many times, but then he'd hit me again or yell at me how I was just a stupid slutty bitch and stuff like that, and I'd be back with a blade in my hand that night. One time... he, well um... he caught me cutting. He got really mad at me, saying that I was his and I had no right to damage his property, as ridiculous as that is. He never owned me, even though I know he thought he did. Anyways, he said that since I was broken and damaged, I was no use to him. So that was the day he broke up with me, but not before he left me 'something to remember him by', as if I didn't have enough already. As if I wanted to remember him. But nevertheless, he took the blade I was using, and... well..." I trail off as I look down to lift up the fabric of my pajama shorts, revealing scars on my upper thigh. Carved into the top of my leg, only visible as pale scars now, are the letters 'BITCH'. "Once he was gone and out of my life, and once Hailee found out about it, I was able to clean myself up. You know, pull myself back together a little bit. Quitting was the hardest thing that I've ever done. But there was this thing called 'The Butterfly Project' that Hailee found for me. Every time I felt like cutting, I drew a butterfly that represented someone who loved me and wouldn't want me to be doing this to myself. If I cut, I would kill the butterflies. If I let them fade on their own without cutting, they would live. After I graduated high school and Hailee and I moved over here, I got this tattooed on my wrist to cover up my scars, and remind me that people love me too much to hurt myself," I say as I pull back my left sleeve to reveal three black and white butterflies tattooed on my skin. "I was ashamed of them and didn't want anyone to see them. But... anyways... I had a nightmare about the morning of the day we broke up."
I inhale deeply once I finish. I have to admit, it feels good--however terrifying--to be able to say it all out loud to someone. I just hope Louis doesn't hate me for it.
We sit in silence while he stares off into space with a hard look on his face while I wait for his response. I want to know what he's thinking. I want to know if he is mad at me or if he hates me. He wouldn't be the first. I should probably expect it. I feel so vulnerable and exposed and all I want is to go to my bed and curl up in my blankets and hide.
When he still doesn't say anything for what feels like an hour, but was probably more around ten minutes, I begin to get worried. What if he really does hate me now? I don't know if I could handle that. He is the first person I willingly told about this because... well... I'm always worried they would be disgusted or disappointed in me, but Louis said he wouldn't judge me. Then again, he said that when he had no idea what I was going to say. He probably wasn't expecting something like this and now that he knew, he couldn't feel the same way.
I flinch when Louis stands up abruptly, shaking me from my thoughts. God, what is he going to do? Is he going to tell me how disgusting I am? Tell me I am weak and worthless?
But he doesn't say anything, he just storms off.
Great. He does hate me. He can't talk to me. He can't be around me. Why would he want to be, anyways? I'm damaged and broken and worthless. I feel a tear trickle down my cheek and don't even bother wiping it away. I just let it fall silently.
When I am on the edge of breaking down in a fit of sobs and tears, Louis walks back and sits down in his previous spot.
"What are you doing?" I sniffle.
He doesn't answer. He just takes a pen he has in his hand and grabs my left wrist. I sit there confused while he begins drawing something on my skin. When he's finished, I pull my wrist back to look at what he drew. What I see is a little drawing of a butterfly, with 'Louis' written beneath it.
I look back up at Louis. He has tears in his eyes and they are red and puffy. The mere sight causes tears to start falling once again.
"You have another person who cares about you, and doesn't want you to be hurt. You have another butterfly that wants to live and stay by your side forever."
By now, the tears are flowing nonstop from my eyes.
He leans forward and pulls me into a hug, holding me tight. I hug back even tighter, as if my life depends on it. I cry freely into the crook of his neck.
"Thank you," I murmur into his skin.
"For what?" I hear him say.
"Not hating me," I admit.
This time he pulls back to look at me.
"Why would I hate you?" he asks, looking genuinely confused.
"For everything I just told you. For my scars. For being damaged and broken."
He shakes his head and lifts his hand to caress my cheek. "I could never hate you. Especially for something like that. I promise."
He leans in closer so that our foreheads were touching. I can feel his warm breath against my face. I love being here and so close to him. He makes me feel safe and wanted. Like I'm not the basket case I feel like. I feel like I belong here. It's weird and new and nice.
I close my eyes, simply enjoying being in his presence. However, Louis leans forward a little closer to me all of the sudden, and our lips are a centimeter from touching.
I don't know what to do. My breath gets caught in my throat and I freeze. What is he doing? He probably doesn't mean to be this close. Maybe I should push him away so he realizes how close he's gotten. Then again, I know what I really want is for him to close the centimeter gap between us.
Even aware that that is what I am wanting him to do, I am caught off guard when he does just that.