Delicate Hearts | Completed

16 || In Control

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TW: a little bit self harm thoughts. like a sentence or two.
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I was in scorching pain, by the time I decided to stop the water and call for help. I called my mom because I didn't know who else to call who wouldn't get me in trouble for this. I don't want to end up in a psych ward with people watching over me twenty-four-seven. That's a nightmare. That would make me feel worse than I am now.

This is precisely how the phone call went:

"Hey, sweety..."

"Mom, I did something. Don't be sad."

"What did you do, sweetheart?"

"I burnt myself."

"Oh my God, Madison... I'll be right there. Don't worry."

And now I'm waiting for my mom to arrive, while I stare at my burns in the mirror. It's not bad. They're not third-degree burns. I just peeled so much skin off that it's bleeding. I'm currently placing tissue paper on my wounds to stop the blood from flowing down my body.

I keep the hot water running in the back so it doesn't go cold in the bathroom and I stand in front of the mirror. I stand in front of the mirror and stare. I hate my body. I hate my body. It brought me so much pain. I hate myself for letting it happen.

A single tear flows down my eye and stings the skin on my face. I wipe it away and look away from the mirror. I don't want to look at myself. I never want to look at myself again. I hear a knock on the door, and it snaps me out of my thoughts. "Come in," I say, quietly.

"Madison..." My mom whispers, taking in the blood and burns on my body. "Baby... No."

"Don't tell anyone..."

She looks into my eyes, but I struggle to meet them. I look down at her feet instead. "If you promise me you'll never do something like this again, we can keep this between us. Madison, you can't keep hurting yourself."

"I know. I promise."

I don't know if I'll keep it. But I don't want her telling anyone. I don't need help. I just need to burn his fucking touch off. I just need to be normal again.

But she doesn't need to know that. She doesn't need to know how fucked in the head I really am.

— — —

I'm wearing baggy clothes above my bandaged burns, and laying on my bed, staring at nothing. It's better than trying to think about things. At least today. I don't want one thought to lead to another until I'm back in the shower again. My mom had to return to work, so it was just me in the house.

Alone. With things, I could hurt myself with.

My mom had offered to stay and drive me to therapy but I assured her I would drive myself, and right about now, I regret my words. I don't want to drive anywhere. I want to stay here. But I can't hurt my parents more than I already have. At least not today.

So I roll gently off the bed and put on a warm yet baggy sweatshirt. I'm already wearing sweatpants, so I put on a pair of Air Jordans and pull my hair into a ponytail. I glance at myself in the mirror for a fraction of a second before looking away and leaving my room.

Fuck therapy.

— — —

"How have things been going for you lately?" Jenna asks, looking at me. Oh, you know. The usual. Hooked up with a guy, stayed over the night, worried my parents sick, burnt myself in the shower, and I'm now here.