Remmington's School for Troubled Teens

Chapter 7

Scarlett's POV

No one said a word as Luke carried me up the hill.

I wasn't okay. I was far from okay. Being okay was a feeling that I hadn't felt since I was too young to understand that my father was kissing his knuckles before my mother felt the impact.

I was messed up. I knew that. I was so far gone that emotions didn't exist for me anymore. And now a new problem had arised.

He was holding me and singing to me still. The sound of his voice sobering me up a little bit, I knew this because the pain in my profusely bleeding hand was growing.

Why did he care? This was probably part of his game to get in pants. But I wasn't going to be another game piece. I refused.

But how was he going to act now? After all of this. After he took me out of a night terror, after he took me from the drugs that I wanted so I could end my life. After he cradled me in his arms. After I looked into his eyes looking for his source of misery and after he stared at me, crying for the emotionally detached being he held in his arms. Pity. Pitying me. And oh how I hated pity.

I was me and he was him. But there was a connection that even my unresponsive still-not-completely-sober self couldn't deny.

Maybe I would forget all of this night. Maybe I would forget the way his enraged face reminded me of my father's. Maybe I would forget the way his face fell when he realized it. Maybe I would forget how safe I felt every time he held me. Maybe I would forget all of the overwhelming feelings I'm feeling right now. Maybe I would forget. But probably not.

When we reached the house, I was almost asleep in his arms. Someone opened the door and I could feel his gaze on me.

He sat down on what I was amusing the couch, took off my shoes and threw them on the ground.

"Will someone get the first aid kit please, her hand, its cut up." He didn't move or take his eyes off of me when he said it. He sniffed.

"Yea, I'll get it, dude, be right back." A male voice said and then I heard footsteps walk away from the living room.

"Luke, what the hell happened?" Nikole asked this, her squeaky voice let me know it was her.

He gave a sad laugh and then spoke, "She worse than us all, Nikole. Something traumatic happened to her. But I don't know what. I saw some guy trying to give her cocaine and it terrified me. She got to me, she's everywhere in my head and I can't seem to shake the thought of her from my mind."

What? Another mind trick to get me to trust him? How many other girls had he held in his arms? How many other girls had he obsessed over the thought of pleasuring?

I payed no mind to his alligator tears. Trust doesn't come easy for me. After all, there is only one person I trust.

I heard footsteps walking towards the living room again, assuming that it was the guy with the first aid kit. Finally.

When he handed the first aid kit to Luke, I could only pray he knew what he was doing. But then an even worse thought occurred. My wrists. I didn't have bracelets on because I was wearing long sleeves. Luckily, the hand that I punched with wasn't the side I cut. I'll have to hide it.

"We need to take off her jacket. Ashley, I'm going to sit her up will you take off her jacket please?"

No. No. No. NO. I started panicking. If they saw the scars, pity. I hated pity. I wasn't weak, I was independent and strong. No one should cry over me.