Fall ❥ George Shelley |Discontinued|

11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

* Scarlett's Point of View *

I wake up and realise I'm in my own bed. It's almost scary. I feel alone again. I feel like Ryan can just come in here at any time and do anything he wants to do to me and with me. I feel so vulnerable. I start hyperventilating and crying. I can't help it, even though I try to make myself stop. I start screaming into my duvet when I can't make myself stop. It slightly helps, relieving discomfort I feel throughout my body. The screaming helps me not cry.

When I stop screaming I look up to see George running into my room. "I heard screaming come from here. What's wrong, Scar...?"

"What are you still doing here? I thought you left last night before I went to sleep," I asked, trying to register what's happening in front of me.

"I'm worried about you. I didn't want you to be alone," he says, sitting down on the foot of my bed. "I'm not going to hurt you like Ryan did. I want you to know you'll be okay whenever I'm around."

"You look so knackered. You seriously need to get some proper sleep, in your own bed. You don't have to worry about me as much as you are. I understand you're concerned but it's making me start to worry about you too," I admit.

He looks down at the comforter as if he did something wrong; which he seriously didn't. "I haven't been able to sleep to be honest. I'm just so worried about you. I can't stand, or sleep evidently, to see you hurt," he says.

"Well, please, get some sleep. I'm going to take a shower," I say, finally getting the urge to get out of my bed. He gets off the edge of the bed too, rubbing the back of his neck in effort to wake up easier. "If you'd like you can sleep in the bed whilst I'm in there?" I suggest, pointing towards the loo.

"Uh..." he says, taking time to register the question before answer. "Sure, if you really don't mind."

"I don't mind. You can sleep here. You really need the rest," I say, picking the clothes I am planning to wear from the closet. As I leave the room without another word, I see him cautiously get into my bed and peacefully fall asleep. It hurts me knowing I'm the cause for his sleep deformation.

I walk into the loo, which is right across the small hallway. I shut the door behind me and take a chance to look at myself since... that... day.... I strip off my clothes and I still look the same. There isn't much of a difference in my appearance other than the bags that have shown up under my eyes from the  recent fatigue and constant crying. The rest of my body doesn't look any different; why? Why don't I look any different if every inch of  my is aching? If everything has changed. I want to scream again, but I know I'll wake George. I can't do that when I've already burdened his life enough. I need a way to express my pain without waking him; without bothering him; without worrying him.

As I hug, my fingers clinging to my warm flesh, my body, I still feel dirty. Even as the image isn't changed, what's behind the image makes the vision all the more dirty. It's all dirty. I'm dirty. Everything around me, surrounding everything in my blurry visual path, is dirty. Something catches the sight of my eyes; metal? Shining metal catches my eye.... Why? What is it? I approach it to see what it is. When I come near it I notice it's a razor. Sharp and pretty. Pretty. Beautiful. That's an interesting word to describe something dangerous. I pick it up and examine it closely whilst it lays on top of my hand. It's a little perfect.

Memories run through my mind of that horrific event. I know it will forever be etched into the back of my skull and there is nothing I can do to get rid of the memory. I feel something sting my wrist. I can feel pain but it almost feels numb. A beautiful numbness consisted all in a pain. It's beautiful. It's wonderful. It's an event I thought I would never want to do. Everything about it settling in my mind. With the blood pouring through the scarred skin. I know it's not something I should be doing, but everything about this just feels right. It sets my mind at ease. It helps me to not scream. It helps me to not cry. It helps.... Even if it shouldn't be helping, everything in my mind tells me to continue; to scar more. I follow my mind to not scream. It helps vent my mind in a silent way, in a way that I can't be heard, in a way that I can't be seen. I don't want to be seen anymore. I don't want to noticed. I like being invisible. It helps me scream more. It helps me want to scar.