Hallways

Chapter 2 -- Adriane Lancaster

***3 Weeks Later***

"Ria, you know that the second weekend of every month is salon weekend! I can't hang out with you this weekend. You should've answered my calls instead of moping," Shona says.

"I wasn't moping. I was just-"

"If you're a real friend, you'll accommodate my schedule so our hang out day is convenient for me." She flips her hair, turns on her heel, and walks off. I'm left there, appalled by her.

"Some friend you got there." I freeze. That fucking cold voice that always freezes me like it has some sort of power to it. I turn around to find Razor leaning against the wall casually, facing the opposite wall, his hands in his pockets, and his hood pulled up.

"Stop sneaking around like that," I say with little power in my voice. He stands upright and walks up until he's only inches from me.

"Like what?" he asks with a smirk.

"Why're you always appearing out of nowhere around me?"

"I told you; I'm a ghost."

"I want a real answer."

"But that is my real answer," he insists with dripping sarcasm. "I don't always have to justify my actions."

"But can you this one time?" He shakes his head.

"I don't know why I do, myself." He diverts his eyes from my face, only for them to harden with an emotion that I can't name. "Why'd you do that?" he demands, his voice icy.

"What?" I ask, clueless. He grabs my wrist and holds it up to me.

"Why'd you cut yourself?" I wrench my arm from him.

"I didn't-"

"Please. Nothing naturally cuts in horizontal lines that're parallel to the heel of your hand."

"It's none of your business. I don't even know you. Why would I spill out why I hurt myself to you?"

"Because I think you figured out when you eyed me over the first time that I hurt myself too. I hate it when I see it on other people."

"So why do you do it if you hate it so much?"

"When you've hurt yourself as much as I have, there is no going back. But for someone like you who hasn't cut for very long, stopping is possible."

"How bad do you hurt yourself?" That stops him. His emerald eyes are full of troubled thoughts. He can't decide on what to do. "Show me."

"No-"

"You've seen mine-"

"No," he growls, his tone so cold that chills run through me. "I don't go around showing people my scars-"

"Then why'd you tell me in the first place?" I demand. He bites his lip in nervous thought. He sighs in defeat.

"Fine." He rolls up the sleeve of his hoodie and pulls some of his bracelets back. I wish I hadn't asked him to. His skin is completely discolored from scarring and scab. Cut upon cut, scar upon scar.

"I-I'm so sorry..." I squeak out. "If I'd known that it was that bad..."

"Well you didn't, so I won't hold it against you," he says, pulling his sleeve back down. "There's no chance of my scars fading, so there's no reason for me to stop. I've been to therapy, mental institutions, any solution that any normal case of depression would utilize, I've tried. Nothing works, not even antidepressants." He closes his eyes and runs his hand through his hair. "But at an early stage like yours, it's possible to stop. Promise that you'll get rid of your blades."

"You don't even know me-"

"But I know what you feel like right now. Lying, wearing false smiles, hiding. It gets more miserable as you continue. I don't like watching others go through it."

"Well I hate to burst your bubble, but...um...I've been cutting for longer than it seems."

"How long?"

"Three, four months. Every other day. Mostly on my legs. I rarely hurt my wrists. But I've tried stopping. It...it doesn't work." He nods, understanding. He pulls me towards him and hugs me tightly. I tense with shock when I feel his lips kiss the top of my head.

"You'll get better. Just try. If not for yourself, for those around you." Something jerks at me mentally and I push myself away from Razor. There's about four feet between us. "What?"

"I don't know you. And that goes both ways. Judging by your character so far, being with you is only going to give me trouble-" He takes a few large steps forward until he's so close that our toes are touching. His expression is blank, but sarcasm sparks in his eyes.

"Getting close to a stranger must be such a crime. I wonder how people become friends...They must be friends from before they even meet! That must be it!" I glare at him, unimpressed. "Look, if you don't want to be around me because of your reputation, just fucking say it." I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He leans over so his lips are practically touching my ear. "After all, I wouldn't want you to be seen with the wrong kind of people." I can practically hear his smirk again. He turns around and walks down the hall.