She Told Me Not to Worry (SEQUEL to He Told Me Not to Tell) COMPLETE

43

Kenzie's POV

"Kenzie? Kenzie," my tutor said, snapping me out of my trance.

"Hmmm?" I asked. "I'm sorry," I said with a sigh.

"Try to stay focused. Now what did you get for number ten?"

I looked down at my paper. "23?"

"Good job," she encouraged. "See, you're too smart to let outside influences mess with your concentration."

I couldn't help it. I tried to stay focused, but there was always something else on my mind. I was scared of it.

We finished a days worth of school in about four hours, so I went on to do the next day's. It's good to be ahead so if I have to miss anything for any reason, it won't be such a big deal.

We wrapped up after I did the next day's work. We said out goodbyes, and the tutor left. I went to find Mom in her room, talking on the phone. I didn't knock on the door or opened it. I know it was rude, but I just had to listen.

"I know, but I'm worried," I heard her say. "Kenzie's been getting more and more distant. She hasn't been able to stay focused. I'm worried." There was a long pause, as who ever she was talking to was speaking. "I don't know what I'm going to do." She sounded so stressed. "You think I should just wait for it to pass? But Nick, what if there's something going on I don't know about? Something that should be of concern?" Pause. "I don't know," she sighed.

I left her door and went to my room. I was stressing Mom out. I was the cause of her worries. What's wrong with me? How could I do this? I shouldn't be having her worrying about me. There had to be something wrong with me. If there wasn't, Mom wouldn't be so worried.

I went to my bathroom drawer, where I keep the object seems to fix everything. I pulled down my jeans to see all of the previous cuts, some newer than others. I looked to my other thigh, clean of cuts. I looked back to my bad one. It was red, covered in little marks I had made. Then I looked to my clean one again. I didn't deserve to have a clean thigh. Besides, there was no more room on my other one.

After I was done releasing my anger on myself, I cleaned up as best as I could. I pulled my jeans back up, but the denim hurt my new wounds. I changed into sweats, as I didn't want Mom to see me in pain as I walked. It still hurt, but this way, it would be easier to hide it.