𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬 || Jameson Hawthorne

how'd I end up here?

WARNINGS: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM, NEGATIVITY, AND SEVERE ANXIETY
—
— 1 YEAR AND 2 MONTHS AGO

༄ 𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒.

Those nights, the times me and Emily hung out together. The one time I crossed a line and went too far— which bled into the many other times I did so.

"I told you not to wear this," Emily said, pulling on the loose ends of my sweater.

I shrugged her hand off of me. "I like it, Em. Why is that so hard for you to accept?"

Emily raised her eyebrows at me, and that same sinking feeling I got whenever Emily was mad at me rose in my stomach.

"Why are you being so difficult? Is it so bad I want to bond with my sister?"

"There's a difference between bonding and controlling." I hadn't meant for the words to come out, but now they had, and there was no taking them back.

"Oh, so now you're talking back?" Emily grabbed my wrist and I winced at the contact. "I don't know what this is about, but if you're trying to impress somebody, I would stop."

I gulped. "What?"

Emily smirked, because she knew I had just fallen for her trap. "I see you and Jameson." She pushed a piece of my hair behind my ear. "It's cute— hurtful, but cute."

"Emily—"

"And it makes sense why he's actually paying attention to you," she said through a grin, "I taught you everything you know, and now you're just a carbon copy of what he's always wanted."

She let go of my wrist, and I gasped. Red marks had tainted my skin, and there was a small bit of blood running down my arm.

"Keep it up, Lizzie, and maybe, just maybe you'll actually have a life outside of the one I gave you."

Emily walked out the door, and that's when I allowed the tears fall. It was just me in the cottage, only me. Always me.

Why not me?

I walked into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me and locking it. If I was alone, then nobody could stop me. If I wasn't alone, I don't think anybody would notice.

I reached for the razor in the cabinet with shaky hands. You don't have to do this. I could hear the voice in my head say— the rational one.

But then Emily's voice, her presence— it sunk back into my skin, and I squeezed the razor tight.

Just once, and it'll be over. You need to do this once.

The first cut wasn't bad, but that was only because I was scared. Scared of the outcome— the ruin. But after several cuts, the pain was present.

Something about it felt thrilling, like a game. Everything had been a game to me my whole life. Jameson Hawthorne and I had made it our mission to find a way to turn everything into a puzzle or game.

I guess this counted too.

How long could I keep going? How deep could I..