𝕭𝖗𝖔𝖐𝖊𝖓 𝕲𝖎𝖗𝖑 - 𝕿𝖔𝖒 𝕶𝖆𝖚𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖟

My Girl

Hours later of crying and explaining my life, he stayed quiet while he listened to me. He wouldn't stop crying and begging me to never do it again. I fell right into him, I couldn't resist. I promised him, and I can't break it now. Promises aren't meant to be broken. He even made one that stuck out to me.

I promise to always be here for you, and help you. I want to protect you forever, Charlie.

He promised. He wouldn't dare break it right? I eventually changed into shorts so I could redo my bandages anyways. I decided to show Tom while I did. He followed me into the bathroom where I hid my ointment and bandages. I grabbed them out from underneath the counter along with a rag to clean my wounds.
"I just can't believe you did that, Charlie. That breaks my heart."
He looks to his lap, his dreadlocks fall onto his shoulders, just barely moving due to the thickness of them. I have no words for him, but now he knows everything, so he knows I won't answer. My only problem I did tonight was overshare. I told him everything about my life back in Halle, at the hospital. I told him about all my feelings with Ghost, with how I think and why I act certain ways. He knows everything.
But now I appreciate him, he did not judge me once. He did not yell once, he did not get mad once. But instead he asked me why I felt I needed to do it, he tried to understand me. I just want to cry forever at the fact that somebody cares, actually cares. Cares about me as a person. Because this is me.

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One day, Ghost calls my cell. My heart drops. I watch as his name floats in a pointless round on my phone. My heart beats fast as I think about if I should just answer it or not. I hesitantly pick ip the phone, opening it and placing it next to my ear.
"Hey Charolette."
My heart is racing. He never called me by my real name. Ever. Am I right? Does he not need me? Not love me? Did he deceive me the entire time? I think all of the above.
"Hi Ghost."
"Mark, just call me Mark."
He corrects, a hint of iritance lingering in his tone.
"I'm sorry, Mark. What is it that you need?"
He sighs, heavy sigh. I know whats to come next. My fear is at it's peak, my arms tingling for that shard or glass, for that tip of metal, that one edge of concrete.
"I don't really have interest in you anymore kid, you're a little young. Plus you're a little mental. I appreciate you but I think you gotta move on, okay?"
My heart shatters. I'm just another pebble in the dirt. My eyes swell up faster than I can think, my fist clenches by the second.
"Whatever."
I mutter, snapping my phone closed. I cut him off but I  don't care. I knew that I wasn't meant for him. I just had that stupid little gut feeling telling me I'll never be good enough. Mental. Mental. Mental. He called me mental. I am mental. I am a fucking mental pathetic loser. I throw my phone acrossed the room, it hits the wall, shattering into a million pieces. I swing the door open, running out and slamming it behind me. I run down, the edges of my shorts just barely above my knees, my long sleeve black fitted shirt heats up under the sun almost instantly. I run down the driceway, tripping and falling to my knees. I break out into heavier cries as my knees now bleed. I run down the street, through the town and to an empty alleyway. Glass shards and sharp objects litter the ground, causing my attention to hyperfixate strictly on the pieces. This is a Saturday I know I will not be found in, Tom is no where near. Bill is no where near. Stacy's mom is gone for the weekend. I am alone. I sit down against the warm brick wall, picking up a tiny sharp glass piece. It's calling my name. I swear I can hear it.

' Charlie! Charlie! '

I hold it tightly in my rigth hand, pinching my left sleeve and inching it up my unbandaged arm. I stop the edge of my sleeve at my elbow, aligning the glass shard with my already existent cuts. The deeps one to where you can almost see my flesh underneath. I touch the point to the cut, the stinging rings through my arms without the motion even being inacted. I need it. I drag it into my cut, the sting feeling relieving. I need this. It feels so horrible yet so good at the same time.
Just then I hear footsteps on the side of the building, just outside of the main town. His voice echoes through the alleyway, my panic rises. What would he think if he saw me this way? Sitting in an alleyway with a glass pieces dug into my skin as deep as it is? He'd be pissed. He'll yell. I have to get away. I can't get away in time. He steps beside the alley, hearing my noises. Now I've done it. He pauses, Bill at his side. My heart drops. Now they've both seen me this way, and I look like an insane idiot. Just fucking great.
"C-Charolette?"
Bill stutters, his eyes locked with my blood drenched arm. I freeze in time, the glass stuck in my skin. Tom doesn't say a word, he drops the bags of Gucci and runs to me, Bill picks the bags up, throwing them to the side as he too rushes at my side. Tom approaches me, a horrified look acrossed his face.
"Charlie what have you done?!"
He picks up my arm. I jerk it back, away from him. Blood flings to the ground, a faint plop can be heard afterward.
"You promised me, Charlie. You promised."
I pause, all my emotions dissapear except one. Regret. He's right. I've promised and broken it to him. To the one boy I'm supposed to make happy, not dissapoint. He probably thinks I'm such a fuck-up, that I should go back where I came from.
"Come on, we've got to get you cleaned up. You can't stay this way."
He holds out his arms to me. I stay still, staring at his open arms, then his face. Thinking about if I should trust him.
The one boy I'm supposed to make happy. I accept, hugging his stomach. Bill is almost frozen in shock, the bags to his right.
"Let me carry you to our house, Char."
He whispers kindly in my ear. For some reason, I waste not a second climbing into his arms like he wants. He holds me tightly as Bill grasps their bags, walking ahead of us to their house. At least 5 minutes go by before we arrive at their house. Tom keeps me in his hold, his head on the side of mine, which lays on his shoulder. My arms hugging his torso for dear life to stay up. When we enter his bathroom, he sets me lightly onto the counter. He walks out, the closet door opens. A rag? A knife? A bat, gun, any weapon? He walks back. A rag. He runs the water to warm beside me, staring at my arm. I think he notices the glass that's stuck in my arm. He frowns, shaking his head. My eyes get teary as I know I've let him down. I feel like such a failure. It's all my fault, I broke him, our trust, our promise. It's all my fault. He turns the water off, ringing out the dark blue rag until it was only damp. He lifts my sleeve back up a little, acknowledging the glass. He looks up at me through his lashes, I drop my head to my lap in shame as my sobs conjest my throat, blocking my words I want to escape to his ears. To relieve his fears, but not a sound comes out other than heavy breaths and sniffles. He gently removes the glass, but I don't feel a thing. He presses the rag onto my wound, now I feel it. It stings worse than I want. I cry out in pain, my sobs gaining power. He looks regretful. He shushes me, petting my head with his unoccupied hand.
"It's okay Charlie, please don't cry. You did this to yourself, but please don't cry. I know it hurts."
He whispers, giving me puppy eyes. It's enough to calm me a little bit, sooth my emotions. When he sees it, he gives me a soft flash of a smile. That helps too. When he finishes, he wraps my arm carefully in a bandage he had, and pulls me into a hug. He arms are around my neck while mine stay firm on my chest. He plays with my hair, shifting it around on my back until my breath turns into shakey wound-up breaths. Uncontrollable breaths. He then tells me I needed to spend the night, only for my safety.