How to be Basic

ii.

Just gonna give a little brief warning, this whole first section that goes from the beginning until the italics end may be a trigger for some people, I tried not to make anything too graphic, but since Brooklyn is dealing with some emotional junk I felt like it needed to be addressed for the plot. BUT if you're dealing with depression or anxiety and are having destructive thoughts please talk to someone, it really does help in the long run. Let me know what you think in the comments below ✌

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I leaned over the sink, watching the blood lazily circle its way down the drain, leaving no visible trace of what had happened minutes before. The knife was already back in its hiding place, wrapped up in some cloth and tucked away in my used towel . Now for the hard part of cleanup.

As I pulled up my already stained shirt, I forgot to mentally prepare myself and flinched at what I saw. The older scars littered my pale hip, and the fresh wounds stuck out like a sore thumb. There was eight of them, eight thin strips of flesh that oozed red. With haste, I dabbed at the cuts, changed into a clean shirt, and hid the soiled shirt underneath the mountain of clothes in my hamper.

Everything I did seemed extremely loud; when I set my books down I thought the table was going to collapse. Each step resounded like a stomp, and every time I opened a door I became irrationally terrified that it was going to fall off of its hinges. After at least thirty minutes of that nonsense, I quit and left the house an hour before I had to. My music became my distraction, but somehow the thoughts were still able to extend their tendrils into the depths of my mind.

I don't know why, so don't ask me. People have tried to explain it to me; that I don't know how to deal with my emotions in a healthy, non-destructive way. I've been told I'm insane; no person in their right mind would purposely hurt themselves. That's when I realized no person in their right mind would want to know that I hurt myself. So I stopped trying to bestow my baggage onto people I trusted, and instead kept my suitcase of burden with me, in case I had to flee. That's meant to be taken both literally and metaphorically, since my 'little problem' was the cause of my family's most recent move.

At my old school, the rumors spread like wildfire, but I suppose all small town high schools are like that. Gossip never really bothered me. The students used to refer to me as the 'hipster before hipsters were cool', which naturally caused people to wonder about me. I used to have a tight group of friends, but they didn't know about my habits. Well, not until a pool party at the end of sophomore year.

"Brook, you prude! Take off your shirt!" Hailey's hair flowed beautifully through the water behind her as she swam towards me. She grabbed onto my legs for support and continued to yell at me, even though we were a foot apart.

"Come on, let's compare food babies together!" She laughed cheerfully, and I couldn't look away from her bones that were as thin as spider webs. Her ribcage protruded from her skin unhealthily, and I could see the dark circles of fatigue under her eyes. It must've been another bad week.

"I don't want my sunburn to get worse," I simply replied, the volume of my voice half of hers at most. There were only four people outside, if they wanted to hear what I said they'd have to work a little harder.

"That's a bunch of bullshit, you never go outside! Grace! Danielle! Come help me get Brooklyn out of this shirt!" Hailey happily screeched as she proceeded to put her weight on my legs so that I couldn't run away. I can't describe terror very well, but at that moment I was ready to run away and never speak to these people again.

I tried to shake my head and say no, but fear consumed me and the words wouldn't come out. Grace lifted my arms and tried to grab at the shirt as Danielle stood a few feet away, staring at the scene with a curious look in her eye. Finally, Grace managed to practically rip the shirt off me, and after that I found my voice. But there was nothing to say; actions speak louder than words, and the actions I had done to my body seemed to scream in agony. Hailey got the worst of it, her face was at eye level with my discolored, puckered skin. Grace didn't even notice until Hailey started screaming.