Nadine's Stuck.

NINE

TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM + MENTION OF RAPE

Nadine's POV:

I wake up in a cold sweat, my arms wrapped around Zara.

I sit up on my bed and looking over at Cade. He's sprawled out on the twin sized bed, his left arm hanging off the side, sleeping peacefully.

I didn't want to sleep tonight. I wanted to be alert and aware of everything, but I had no choice when I slipped into regression and Cade kept a stern keeping on the rules. I couldn't even pretend to sleep. I was pretty tired and I could feel Cade watching me sleep, so I envitably feel asleep. Now knowing Cade's friends with him, Cade's eyes make me feel uneasy.

It feels like the room is a mouth, about to chew me up, spit me out for fun, and then swallow me whole. And that mouth belongs to none other than him. Riley Davis.

The last time I let someone know about my regression, he happened. That's why I can't slip anymore. I can't let that little switch in my brain flick to baby-mode. I have to try and keep it on teenager-mode. That's a rule for myself from myself. Not one of Cade's silly ones written on the papers that hang above my desk.

I need to follow this one. No whining like I did about bedtime.

I need to get rid of all my regression stuff too. Get rid of any triggers. Riley and Cade's friends are bound to come over. People like Cade always have friends to occupy them.

Last night, Cade told me not to call him Caden, but he calls me by Rosewood all the time. It's just Nadia just like it's just Cade.

I can feel it. That little monster in my wrist. I've been trying to keep hidden beneath my veins, away from my scabbed wrist skin, but it's not working. It just makes me want to go deeper to get it untangled from my veins.

I let go of Zara and sneak off the bed. Lifting the mattress up, my hands mindlessly search for my blade. Finally, I feel my finger touch the small thing, it's placed perfectly on one of the white, wooden planks supporting the mattress. I slip it into my hand.

It feels like forever since I held the blade, but it's barley been a few days. Cutting has become such a natural, frequent thing to me.

Blood. There's going to be blood.

I place the blade on Zara's stuffed stomach and get up, tiptoeing to the bathroom, grabbing a random washcloth folded neatly with the others in the bottom cubert.

This will be my washcloth. Mine to keep, mine to hold, mine to hide, mine to bloody.

I tiptoe back to my bed and grab the blade from Zara's stomach, replacing it with the cloth.

I let the blade graze my wrist a few times. A way to prepare myself, I guess. Though I've done this many times, it still hurts. I thought I'd grow some pain tolarents to it by now, but I haven't. And that's okay. The pain is what I deserve after all. It's what I deserve for letting Cade and Riley know about my regression. It's what I deserve for slipping. It's what I deserve for regressing at that party and trusting Riley. For not fighting. For looking at the ceiling fan. For slipping in and out in that momment.

I cut.

1

2

3

Deeper.

Deeper.

Deeper.

At first, there is no blood, just lines. Then the blood comes. I stare at it for a moment before grabbing the washcloth from Zara's stomach and placing it on the wounds, applying a good amount of pressure on it.

I feel so guilty for doing this infront of Cade. What if he wakes up and sees? I don't know what his reaction would be. Would he ask me why like my mom would? Would he laugh? Would he smirk the way Akiko smirked when she asked me if I was anorexic?

Anorexic.

What if my wrist run out of room for cuts because they're so small. Anorexic looking. Then I would move to my upper arm. My thighs. Every inch of my body until I was a cut monster. Until I was the monster in my wrists.

It feels like forever before the bleeding stops and I take a deep, shakey breath. Maybe I should have wetted the cloth. I'll do that next time.

I stand up from my bed and place the blade back in its designated spot, this time along with the cloth.

. . .

I sit on my bed starring at my wrists for God know how long. I don't know why I always stare at them after I cut. I hate them.

I hadn't realized how hard I was crying, until I saw thick tears drop onto my pajama pants.

Quieter, Nadia, Cade will hear.

I pull the sleeve of my pink pajama shirt down and lie down.

Now, I'm starring at the ceiling, like I was in that room at that party. This time, there is no ceiling fan to distract me. But there is also no Riley pounding into me. Hurting me.

Let's play a game, hm?

I think those words will always haunt me. Because if I hadn't regressed, I wouldn't have wanted to play. I shouldn't have regressed. I should have tried harder to stay in teenage-mode.

It's my fault.

All of it.

Everything.

My fault.

I'm not going to fall asleep tonight. That's another rule I've made for myself: no sleeping in the same room with a guy who knows about my regression. I suppose the rule is just no sleeping in the same room as Riley or Cade because I'm not letting anyone else know. At all.

The Riley one would be easy, I'm going to try to avoid him like I've been doing for the past few months. It might harder because he's friends with my roommate. My roommate. That's going to very difficult, to not sleep in the same room as Cade. We literally live together.

I'm scared.

. . .
Check out the first chapter of my new book 'In His Eyes' on my second account KeepingKeroppi
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[Everyone, I'm so grateful for the reads and upvotes! Please continue to upvote and comment! I was thinking, my birthday is very soon, so maybe, as a birthday gift, we can get this book to 100 upvotes? I would really appreciate it! At the moment I'm writing this, we only need 19 more! Love you all!! ♡]
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Word count: 1100!