Stay Away From My Friends (Jenna McDougall and Vic Fuentes)

Chapter 11

**self harm, eating disorder, and addiction trigger warning**

I open my eyes. I don't know what time it is, but I feel like hell. I sit up groggily, rubbing my eyes. I look at my clock. It reads 3:00 a.m. I slept for fifteen hours and I'm still exhausted.

My arms are sticking to the sheets, stuck together with dry blood. I peel them off, opening a few cuts in the process. Oh well. 

I sit up. Mom, Dad, and Mike must be asleep. None of them bothered to check on me. I know I left the note, but they could've at least opened the door to see if I wasn't dead. I wouldn't have wanted them to see me, but it would've been nice to know they cared at least that much. I guess not.

I rub my eyes, looking around. Moonlight's filling my room. Pills and blades are scattered across my dresser, and blood is staining my clothes and bed. It all looks... Peaceful.

I'd go get food, but I know I don't deserve to eat. I don't want anyone to wake up, then see me like this. They'd have a heart attack.

I slip into the bathroom and wrap some gauze around my arms after washing off the dry blood. I then go put on a long sleeve shirt. I slip the remaining pills back into their bottle and hide them, along with my blades.

With nothing else to do, I go back to bed.

I'm only half asleep. I'm still thinking and aware of my surroundings, but part of me isn't. It's weird, and it leaves me even more exhausted when Mike wakes me up for school.

"Get your lazy ass up!" he yells from downstairs.

"I don't feel good," I manage to speak loudly enough. "I'm staying home again."

"Whatever."

I couldn't go to school even if I felt like a regular person. My backpack's in a ditch somewhere. I'm too exhausted anyway. I don't want to deal with anything.

I keep laying in bed until I hear Mike leave. I then manage to drag myself out of bed. God, I look fucking terrible. My hair's all over the place. There are black bags under my eyes, which have no life in them. I can see my ribs and some blood through my shirt. I look dead. I feel dead.

I change clothes, rewrapping the gauze. I wear a t-shirt this time. It's not like anyone's going to see me. And anyone who does won't care. But just in case, I put on some bracelets to hide it.

I clean myself up the best I can and head downstairs. I don't want to stay inside all day. It'll just depress me. I'll go somewhere nice. Not school.

I go to the garage and do some digging. After a few minutes, I find my old skateboard. I'm a little rickety riding it again for the first time in a while, but I don't care if I fall. I don't mind getting hurt.

I skate down the street as fast as I can. I silently hope for a speeding car to round the corner and hit me. But none do.

Where should I go? I need a place no one will recognize me.

The skate park. I haven't been there in ages. It'll be mostly empty too. It's perfect. I'll just ride around and clear my head.

I ride fast to the skate park, getting there in no more than five minutes. There's a few kids there. They look about my age. High school dropouts probably. They're smoking.

I ride into the park. I get off my board and pick it up. They all notice me and look over.

I give a disinterested half smile as I pass. They're all staring at me.

"Shit dude," a boy mutters. "You look dead."

I shrug.

"You look like you need a smoke," another boy corrects.