Petal [h.s.]

Chapter 65

TW: mentions of self-harm & body dysmorphia

Violet.

I had never hated my body.

I had been disappointed in it, I had been frustrated with it. I remembered feeling sad to learn I would never get my first period, that my stomach would never grow gracefully with another human inside.

I had been heartbroken when a boy I once liked broke up with me because I would never be able to give him a child and he couldn't see a future without kids. My body had betrayed me, gotten in the way of a love with someone who I thought was my soulmate back then.

I remembered feeling sad when the doctors said my shoulder was fully healed and there was nothing more they could do to make it more aesthetically pleasing.

I had been frustrated with it to the point that I had hurt it. I had taken scissors, razors, knives to my arms in an attempt to cope with the horrible turmoil inside my brain that was searching for a way out.

Self-harm is a strange thing. I don't know why I ever thought it would make me feel mentally better to mark my arms, yet somehow it did. At least for a few seconds before everything just got worse.

I had never hated my body.

I never hated my wider hips, or my smaller chest. I never hated the flab of skin around my arms, or the way I thought the bones of my shoulders poked out too much. I never hated the many freckles that graced my skin, I never hated my slightly crooked nose or my stubby toes.

I had grown to accept that this body was my home, and there was nothing for me to do but accept it, and take care of it.

Yet as I stood in the bathroom at the mansion, I immediately reached for a large towel to drape it over the mirror so I couldn't see myself. I wanted to shower, and I wished I could shut my vision off for just a moment. But I couldn't. 

I contemplated turning the lights off in the bathroom, but that would be too dangerous. I didn't want to risk having to call Harry in here to carry me out naked with broken legs.

I was in this constant battle with myself. I somehow felt the need to shower multiple times a day, scrubbing my body to the point it was red and raw as I still felt unwanted hands on me. At the same time, I couldn't bear to see myself naked, so it was a constant mental battle.

The water was lukewarm in an attempt to calm myself. Lately it felt like I was living in a permanent state of a nightmare, constantly having the feeling my skin was on fire and that I had to put it out. I relaxed slightly when the water hit my shoulders and I kept my gaze locked on the showerhead, refusing to look down.

I scrubbed harshly, still feeling Chase's fingers on me while simultaneously also attempting to scrub skin off as if that would make me skinnier. As if shedding skin would make me different. As if that was the issue and this was the solution.

My mind felt clouded, hazy and heavy. I hadn't slept after being woken up by my fourth nightmare of the night. Harry had sighed heavily next to me, rubbing his sleepy eyes as I was crying and screaming in the sheets. He had attempted to follow me into the bathroom once more but I had slammed the door shut and locked it immediately.

I insisted on a small shower before work, especially since it was humid and I slept with clothes on these days. I was sweating throughout most of the night, but refused to take anything off. I had laid out my outfit for the day, wearing black jeans and an olive green oversized sweater that hid as much skin as possible. 

People would question my choice of clothing as they walked around in their summer clothes, but I refused.

I wanted to hide.