Fracture

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

*TW: MENTIONS OF SELF HARM*

☆ ♫ Patrick ♫ ☆

We had been back at school for two weeks and Scarlett was already swamped with maths homework that she needed help with.

I of course offered my assistance so here we were, sitting on my bed with a maths textbook cracked open.

"So, X equals six," I informed her, pointing to the equation we were solving.

"Ugh," She groaned, "Whoever decided letters should be involved in maths should be publicly humiliated."

"It's not that bad," I laughed.

My girlfriend let out an agitated huff and leaned against the headboard of my bed.

"It is that bad. Maybe not for you, when you're a big fat swot," She frowned, crossing her arms.

"I'm not a swot," I grinned, shaking my head.

"Right," She smirked, picking up my arm and placing it around her shoulders, "I want a break from maths. I need some Patrick time."

Feeling my heart swell with happiness I pulled her closer to me, her head now resting on my chest.

"Get the remote," She grinned, "It's about time we have our Twilight marathon so I can prove that team Edward is the right team."

Chuckling, I reached onto my nightstand and retrieved the remote before handing it to Scarlett.

Reaching for it, the sleeve of her jumper rose up revealing the scars that lined her wrist along with fresh looking cuts.

My heart pretty much cracked in my chest.
It did every time I saw the scars.

She must've seen me looking at them because she quickly yanked her sleeve back down.

"Scarlett," I swallowed hard, not wanting to say the wrong thing.

But I wanted her to stop.
I knew how bad this could get.
She could bleed out or seriously injure herself.

"It's grand," She smiled, but I knew it was fake.

"It's not grand, baby," I forced out, "Something is clearly wrong."

Refusing to look me in the eyes, she mumbled, "Patrick, I said I'm grand."

"If you're grand, you wouldn't be cutting yourself," The words tumbled out of my mouth, "I'm worried about you."

"I'm not," She hissed, sitting up from my chest.

I reached for her arm and rolled up the sleeve, revealing what looked like years of self harm.

"Scarlett," My voice cracked, "Baby."

"It's not as bad as it looks," She whispered, pulling her arm out of my grasp.

"When did this start?" I asked, my voice wobbling.

"I don't know," She shrugged, "Maybe first year."