𝒉𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒔

fourteen

"Self-harm is an addiction. It creeps into your mind when you're at your lowest, and it whispers that the pain will make it better."

Cato pulled up to my house, the familiar sight filling me with a mix of relief and dread. "Just think about what I said, okay?" he urged as I unbuckled my seatbelt.

I nodded, not meeting his gaze as I opened the door. "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

"Gina," he called after me, his voice laced with concern. "You're worth more than this. Don't lose sight of that."

I paused, feeling the weight of his words settle heavily in my chest. But instead of responding, I stepped out of the truck and closed the door behind me. I walked toward my house, the familiar surroundings feeling both comforting and stifling.

Inside, I leaned against the door, closing my eyes for a moment as I tried to process everything that had just happened.

Cato's concern felt like a lifeline, but it was also a reminder of the pain I was trying to escape.

The world outside was dark, but the chaos in my mind was far more overwhelming.

I slipped off my shoes, the cold hardwood floor sending a shiver up my spine. The silence of the house was deafening, amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts that clouded my mind.

My mother's absence was a palpable presence, the void she left behind suffocating and heavy. I could hear her voice echoing in my head, the criticisms, the incessant comparisons to her younger self, the sharp words that cut deeper than any knife.

"Why can't you just be normal?"

"Do you even realize how much you have? How good do you have it?"

"Everyone thinks you're perfect, but you don't act like it."

I clenched my fists at my sides, feeling the anger boiling beneath the surface. But it quickly shifted to something darker—a sense of hopelessness that wrapped around me like a vice.

I wanted to scream, to tell her everything I was feeling, but I knew it would fall on deaf ears.

She wouldn't understand.

She couldn't.

With a deep breath, I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find something to dull the ache in my chest. The fridge hummed quietly as I opened it, light spilling out and illuminating the stark emptiness inside.

It was filled with organic fruits and gourmet snacks, everything perfectly arranged. Nothing that could satisfy the hollow pit within me. I grabbed a bottle of water and shut the door, feeling the overwhelming urge to collapse onto the floor.

I wandered aimlessly through the house, looking for something—anything—that could ground me.

I passed the living room, its plush furniture inviting yet suffocating. The walls were adorned with family portraits, all smiles and laughter, showcasing a version of life that felt alien to me. I wasn't in those pictures. I was an outsider in my own home, a shadow slipping between the cracks of a life I couldn't inhabit.

I finally made my way upstairs to my room, pushing the door open to reveal the chaos I'd left behind. Clothes littered the floor, remnants of failed attempts at looking presentable. My bed was unmade, sheets tangled like my thoughts.

I sank onto the edge, the mattress sinking beneath my weight, and buried my face in my hands.

The silence enveloped me, wrapping around my mind like a shroud. I thought about Cato, his concerned gaze, the way he made me feel like maybe there was still hope for me, but then the darkness seeped back in.

What did he know?

What did anyone know?

I glanced around my room, searching for something to distract me, but everything felt meaningless.

I reached for my phone instinctively, only to remember I had left it in Cato's truck. It felt like one more link in a chain of isolation. I had no one to talk to, no one to reach out to, and the thought made my chest tighten.

As I sat there, the thoughts spiraling through my mind grew more frantic. My heart raced as I imagined the worst.

What if I couldn't find a way out?

What if this was it?

The tears began to spill over, hot and relentless, falling onto my palms as I let the floodgates open. The sobs wracked my body, each one feeling like a release, but it did little to quell the storm inside me.

I didn't know how long I sat there, lost in my thoughts and tears, but eventually, the exhaustion began to pull at me again.

I lay back on my bed, the coolness of the sheets contrasting sharply with the heat of my tears. I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing with chaotic thoughts, desperate for a sense of calm that never seemed to come.

The familiar darkness crept in again, whispering insidious thoughts that gnawed at my sanity. I could feel it coiling around me, tightening its grip, promising solace if only I would give in.

My thoughts turned back to the drugs I had sought, to the tantalizing promise of a different reality. But Cato had denied me that too, and I was left with nothing.

I closed my eyes, fighting against the darkness that threatened to consume me. A small voice inside me pleaded for a different outcome, for a glimmer of hope to break through the despair. But it felt so far away, so out of reach, buried beneath the weight of my own thoughts.

The house remained silent. I took a shaky breath, realizing I was still alone. My mother wouldn't be home.

The realization hit me like a wave, and the solitude wrapped around me once more, amplifying the ache in my chest. I felt trapped in my own mind, the thoughts spiraling out of control as I envisioned everything I had lost.

The fake friendships, the guys who only wanted me for my looks—an accessory they could brag about, the emptiness that followed every shallow interaction. Each memory felt like a fresh cut, a reminder of how deeply I had failed to connect.

I stood up, my legs unsteady, and moved toward my desk, drawn to the hidden corner where I kept my secrets. My hands trembled as I fished through the clutter, heart racing as I pulled out the small blade I had tucked away. It was cold to the touch, a stark contrast to the warmth of my skin, and I could feel the familiar pull as I grasped it tightly.

The world faded away, and all that remained was the weight of my thoughts and the cold metal in my palm. I knew this path too well, the comfort it promised, the escape it offered. With each breath, I felt the darkness close in, suffocating yet familiar.

I held the blade against my skin, a moment of hesitation flickering within me. I closed my eyes, fighting against the voice that told me this was the only way to release the pain.

But deep down, a small part of me still clung to the hope Cato had offered, the fleeting thought that maybe there was another way. Yet, the grip of despair was too strong. I could feel my resolve crumbling, the blade poised to shatter the silence that had engulfed me.

In that moment, I was teetering on the edge of a decision that could consume me entirely. And as the darkness whispered its seductive promises, I felt myself lean closer, unable to turn back.