Daughter of the Demon (I)

Daughter of the Demon-10-Pain

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Chapter 10: Pain

~Jacob~

Jemma did not answer when I called her to ask if she was okay. And for that matter she did not answer the five calls after that. I didn’t see her at school the next morning and I didn’t see her at lunch.

I was trying to avoid her and I should have been happy she wasn’t there. Yet, a part of me had to know.

Where was she?

*****

~Jemma~

The blood oozed out of my arm warm and solid. The pain was intense, but I had to have it. Pain was so much easier to deal with than sorrow, or confusion, or loss. I could manipulate it, and drown out any other emotions.

I clutched my cut arm with the opposite hand, the blood trickling in between the cracks of my fingers. I hadn’t meant to cut myself. It just happened. But I liked it. And I knew I was destroying myself. I did. But the pain was so much better than feeling nothing but fear.

I was on my knees on the bathroom floor, the shower going to disguse the true events. I locked the bathroom doorway anyway, though, in case Aunt Clara decided to come strolling in for various reasons.

The blade I had used was on the floor surrounded by blood. My blood. It was silent, except for the steady shhrr of the shower. I could hear the plip, plip, plip of my blood as it fell from my arm to the floor. I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move. I was damaging myself yet at the same time I was . . . renewing myself. I grabbed paper towels and cleaned up the blood on the floor. I grabbed the razor and closed my eyes, carving another thin line across my forearm. Before I knew it I was crying again. God, why was I so emotional these days? The tears rolled down my cheeks and splattered on the floor and on my forearm, mixing in with the blood, and I was shaking. I threw the razor in the garbage, along with the bloody paper towels and stood up to rinse my arm off in the sink. The water turned crimson for a long time, until finally it ran clean and pure, and left behind was a long, thin “x” in the center of my forearm.

*****

~Jacob~

I waited by the fountain after-school. I waited with Trevor and I waited until he had to leave and I waited even when everyone was gone and the only person left besides me was Mr. Matthews.

He came up and sat beside me, his quirky grey hair fluttering in the wind. He clutched his binder of papers to be graded for students and sighed. “I saw you sitting out here for an awfully long time. Waiting for somebody?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Um . . . kind of. I was trying to work on the project with Jemma, get to know her, you know? But I kind of left her on a sour note and I tried calling her but she never responded.”

“Well, what’s wrong?”

"I wish I knew."

Mr. Matthews was quiet for a bit, and then he turned to me. “You know, it’s kids like you that make me remember why I became a teacher.”

I blinked at him. “Kids like me?”

“And Jemma.” He set his binder down. “I work to help kids who don’t quite know who they are, per say. It’s what I live for, and why I teach. Every once in a while, a kid comes by and you know what? They need help. That’s why I gave you two that assignment. Trust me; you’ll thank me later.”