Trauma changes people. trauma changes everyone.
All rights for the 9-1-1 cast and all rights to most of the plot goes to ABC. New plots and new characters belong to me 🫶
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TW: SH TOPICS
I watch as my grades drop. I sit on my bed and put my fingers on my temple. What the hell is going on with me?
I feel like I'm losing every knowledge I gained. My phone dings but ignore it as I look through my test and schoolwork scores. A 54 on a test in math and a 53 on one in Science. A 43 on one in History and a 87 on one in English.
What the actual hell?! The English one isn't bad but these other ones... Dad is going to be so disappointed in me.
My leg bounces as I sit there. I shake my head before turning to my phone and picking it up. The group chat is blowing up. "I passed the first tests!!" Isabelle says. The others are congratulating and saying same.
I know they cheated and I know I should probably do that too since I can get away with it. But I feel weird doing it. A phone call comes through and it's Miles.
I answer it before putting it up to my ear. "Hello?" I say, putting as much enthusiasm I'm my voice as I can. "Hey! How are classes going?" Miles asks.
"Fine. Yeah. I passed." I say. "Oh. Good! I'm glad we all passed. Though, I think we're all cheating." Miles says. "Yeah. Yeah, probably." I say. "Are you okay? You sound off." Miles asks.
"I'm fine. Just tired. I spent a lot of time studying." I say with a small laugh. "Oh, well you better go catch up on that sleep." Miles says. "Yeah, I'll do that. Bye." I say. "Bye." He says before hanging up.
I look over at my computer before looking over to my jewelry box. I promised I wouldn't do it. I told her I wouldn't do it.
I sigh before standing up and grabbing my jewelry box and digging through it. I find what I wanted. The blade that's hidden in the bottom crevice of my jewelry box.
I sit on the ground, tears falling down my face. This year means something. It means something and I'm screwing it all up!!! All this work for nothing.
For nothing..
*********
My wrists sting as I put my sweater down, the fabric scratches the scars. I clean the blade and my wrist before putting the blade back into my box.
Why did I do that? I was clean! And over something this small?! I'm so pathetic. I'm so dramatic.
I sit down on my bed, putting my face in my hands. My door opens, making me look up. "Lunch is ready." Carla says. "Okay." I say.
Carla has offered to stay with us even through the Covid outbreak. Dad said she should probably start staying home but she declined. I'm scared Chris will get sick but I know Carla is careful.
"Are you going to come eat?" She asks. "I'm not hungry. I'll come and eat later." I say. "Okay." She says before leaving, shutting my door.
I look over at my nightstand and see the photo of me, Dad, and Chris I've kept beside my bed since I got the photo.
I can't let him know I relapsed. I won't let Dad know.
