We're Not Alone

Chapter 4

TW: Self harm (no blood) If this topic triggers you, read until you see ** and then move on to the next chapter. From ** to the end of the chapter will have self-harm but nothing else important to the plot, so you can skip it.

I finished my math homework a few hours ago and now I'm laying in bed as my phone goes off. I stand up, placing my book on my white duvet and walk to my wooden desk where my phone has been charging. Noticing it's now 6pm, my mom should be home soon, my dad not until 8.

I see a text from my mom to the family group chat, apologizing and telling us her big case needs all hands on deck and she's stuck at the office until 8, so me and Noah should cook dinner or order food. I sigh, more time to be alone with my thoughts, great.

Nonetheless I respond telling her it's okay, and ask if we should make/order enough for both her and my dad or if they will have eaten already. She responds quickly saying to have enough for them as well. I like her message and go back to my book. I'm not hungry yet, so I decide to wait until Noah comes to ask what I want like he normally does. Actually that's a lie, he normally shouts my name and makes me come downstairs.

I've barely read a paragraph of my book when I hear him yell my name. I get up and walk to the top of the stairs, where I can see the whole living room and they can see me "Yes?" he replies without looking up "Mom said we need to figure out dinner" I nod, all 4 boys with their eyes glued to the tv in front of them "Yeah, I'm aware, I responded to her message, I'm not hungry so get whatever you guys want, just get enough for mom and dad" I'm giving him more attitude then he deserves, but I'm annoyed at him for yelling at me earlier so I don't really care much.

"Okay, we want pizza, could you order it?" he glances up at me for the first time, when he meets my eyes I tilt my head in confusion "Did something happen to make you unable to order your own food?" He rolls his eyes, Tommy giving a small snort, while carrying on with his game "Come on Scarlett, we're in the middle of a game, can you just do it?" he pauses and adds "And you know I hate talking to people on the phone" I roll my eyes "So now you want me to talk? I thought I was supposed to shut the fuck up?" I say it very sarcastically, which he doesn't find amusing. "Whatever, sorry, can you just order?" he waits a second before adding "please" I sigh "fine, what do you guys want?"

They give me their order and I get extra for my parents, and go back to reading, until the doorbell rings, I hop up, not wanting one of the guys to answer, because I didn't tip online, I was gonna tip in cash, I grab my wallet and pull out a generous tip out on my way to the door. Unsurprisingly none of the guys even heard the doorbell or noticed me getting it.

I toss the pizza on the kitchen island, sticking the one for my parents in the fridge. "It's on the island" I say as I walk through the living room to the stairs, they all shout a thank you to me, flashing big smiles, and as I reach the bottom of the stairs they've all stood up from the couch and are making their way to the island, "are you not having any?" I turn around to respond to the question Zeke asked "No I'm not hungry, oh and tell Noah not to eat the one in the fridge, It's for my parents" He smiles and nods before walking away, and as I ascend the stairs I can hear him relaying my message to Noah.

I slump back into bed, I'm not in the mood to read anymore, and I can't find any good shows. I decide to walk to the corner of my room, to a wooden shelf, about the height of a side table, which has my record player on top, and my records neatly slid into the cubby. I pull out my boygenius vinyl and clean it before hitting playing, lowering the volume of the speakers which rest on either side of my desk. I make it quiet enough Noah won't complain but loud enough it'll drown out my thoughts. I open the bottom left drawer of my desk and dig through textbooks and papers until I find my journal hidden at the bottom.

As I turn around I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I step to the side so I'm fully in front no of it. I grimace, seeing my full body, I pull at skin, desperately trying to morph it into something acceptable, something lovable, but like always, all I'm left with is claw marks.

I shake my head, trying to rid my mind of my reflection. I grab a pen off my desk and walk over to my closed door, I slide down it, sitting with my back up against the door, my knees folded up. I don't have a lock on my door, and since Noah doesn't knock, I sit here when I journal, so no one comes in and somehow reads any of it. I flip open to a new page and start writing down everything.

Everything about myself that bothered me today, I write about Noah yelling like normal, and how I know when his friends are gone and he's not playing games he'll be nice again, how badly I want a friend group like his, the loneliness, how I got Leo to have a small smile, but then must of said something wrong since he went back to being monotone, showing no expression, except the pain in his eyes. And maybe that's why I cared when I made him laugh, because I know what pain feels like, How even in a room full of people, I'm alone.

I glance up from my page for a minute, trying to keep the few tears that escaped from hitting the paper and smearing the pen. I use my sleeve to wipe the tears and then turn back to my journal. Writing again.

But then I recall Ben, how he got shoved into a locker, how that didn't happen to me, and I should acknowledge others have it worse, I mean I have a family who loves me, even if Noah can be a dick sometimes, I have Delilah, even if she's not here right now. Who am I to complain, I have a roof over my head, food, family and a friend. God I'm so selfish. I'm over here crying when others have it so much worse. Maybe this is why I feel alone, who would want to be friends with a selfish asshole, God I'm a terrible person.

**

I push my journal on the ground and switch my position, my legs sticking straight out in front of me. Repeating in my head "How selfish could you be... no one wants to be your friend because you just think about yourself...you can't even have a 5 minute conversation without doing something wrong... you are so selfish..." I put my hand on my right thigh, and push down, hard, waiting for the pain that I deserve, but it doesn't come. I roll up the hem of my shorts and find a very faded bruise, that's why it didn't hurt, the old bruise is almost gone. I roll the hem of my shorts on my left leg, and brace myself, before hitting my left thigh as hard as I can, again and again, only stopping when my knuckles are stinging and bright red, a deep red splotch on my thigh, that I'm satisfied will leave a dark bruise.

I started this 2 years ago, when I first started getting depressed, I had to somehow get rid of the pain, turn the mental pain into physical pain. After a while I thought about switching to a blade, I thought it would cause more pain, but I knew I couldn't hide it. I run hot, I'm always in shorts and tank tops, so someone would see cuts, but bruises? Those I could mostly hide, and if anyone saw, they wouldn't think twice, I'm clumsy, I've always been covered in bruises. The past few months it went from just doing it to release pain, to also causing pain, whenever I thought I deserved it. Or sometimes when I feel numb, and I need to feel something, or when I need control. I push down as hard as I can on the bruises, sometimes punching them, and creating new ones once the old doesn't give me enough pain anymore.

I flex my hand, trying to get the stinging in my knuckles to stop. I force myself to stand up, hiding my journal, and unrolling my shorts. I'm not in the mood to read, but I have nothing else to do. I pick a new book off the shelf and sit on a floor pillow near my record player, and read.