Caged Animals (A Story of Bullying)

*Chapter Twelve*

I am back. :-) I hope you all have been doing well; I've missed you. However, before I begin this chapter, I need to reminde you of something.

In this tale, Evening cuts. However, remember: no matter what she says about it making the pain go away, or the magic of cutting, cutting ISN'T GOOD. It's not healthy, nor does it truly take the pain away...it only makes it worse. If you are cutting, please, come talk to me, or someone you trust. I won't judge, I promise.

Picture to the side is of what Harbor Wilcox looks like. <3

"What if the kid you bullied at school grew up, and turned out to be the only surgeon that could save your life?" ~Lynette Mather

BULLYING IS NEVER OKAY.

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*Chapter Twelve*

I awoke seemingly way too soon after the black had overcome my senses, the upbeat, electronic buzzing of my cell phone drawing me out of my, mercifully, peaceful slumber. I groaned softly, acutely aware of my situation, and rolled over, stifling a cry at my stiff, pained joints. Though my black eye had faded to a bruised purple rather quickly, my breathing was still labored, ribs aching, the rest of my body pained and refusing to move. I squeaked pathetically as my hand rose, trembling, to grasp the cool exterior of my phone, slowly bringing it to my ear and pressing answer, not checking to see who it was.

            “H-Hello?” I stammered, wincing at my disgusting, bile-coated morning voice. You sound like a dying cat, Evie. Feeling the hurt of the reminder, however small, wash over me, my nails guided themselves to my bloodied forearm, prepared to re-open at a moment’s notice. Only a day, and I had already become addicted to the invincible feeling the pain gave me, the real hurt it took away.

            “Evening? Oh, God, sorry. Did I wake you up?”

            A small grin pulled my lips up at the concern lacing my brother’s voice: my cheeks stung and complained at the effort, but my mind retaliated. Harbor could cheer up anyone’s day, regardless of how much aforementioned person was going through or how much pain they were in. “Yeah, but it’s alright,” I told him, my voice cracking groggily. “It’s more sleep than I should have gotten, anyway.”

            “Is that what the doctors said?” Harbor asked, suspicion dripping tangibly from his change of tone.

            I sighed. “Harbor, I’m not that bad,” I protested, only half-lying. “Yes, that’s what they told me. They said that the severe pain could cause me not to get much sleep, so I should try to get as much as I could.”

            I could nearly feel him nod approvingly. “That’s good. Maybe you’re improving quicker than they should,” he offered hopefully.

            “Don’t think so,” I disagreed, grimacing as I attempted to move one of my legs. “I hurt like heck right now. All over.”

            “Sorry, Evie.” Harbor’s tone reversed, morphing back into his usual anxious, cheerful attitude. “I wish this hadn’t of happened. Those freaking idiots are going to get it from the court. I mean, people filmed that. Trust me, Evening, they’ll get what’s coming to them, and—”

            “Harbor?” I interrupted him mid-sentence, not wanting to talk about my stupidity and their cruelty at the moment. Besides, I didn’t want my brother angry. He wasn’t himself when he was: a bit like a massively watered down version of the Hulk, without smashing anything. “Let’s not talk about this right now, okay? I really don’t want to.”