GirlxGirl A collection of fluff, smut, and everything in between (Lesbian Stories)

The World is Ugly

Author's Note - So I really didn't want to put something up that may be triggering, but that's all that's been going through my mind recently and I just really need to get it out so I'm sorry. This is a trigger warning for selfharm, depression, suicide or anything of that nature. Please be careful guys, I care about you and I really don't want to trigger any of you.  

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I sit down on the toilet lid and let out the breath I've been holding in. 

She's going to find out. Fuck. 

I stand up and pull my sweatshirt sleeve up. The blood has already gotten onto my sweatshirt, turning the grey material to an ugly brown. I'll just say I spilled wine on myself. Or I'll throw the sweatshirt away.

I slip the soiled article off, trying to be cautious when I go over my arm. Next I take off my shirt and pants. I turn to the shower and start running the water. As the room fills with steam and the sound of water pelting the bottom of the tub, I carefully pick up the blade resting on the counter of the sink. This was a bad relapse; I was one hundred and twenty-five days clean. I lift the toilet lid and drop the blade into the water. Close the lid. Flush the toilet. Done.

I slip my bra and underwear off then slide into the shower, closing the door behind me. When the water hits my arm I flinch at the unfamiliar sting. It had been so long.

*after shower*

It's the beginning of spring and I'm putting on a long sleeved shirt. 

Should I tell her? She doesn't even know that I selfharmed in the first place. I hid it from her one hundred and twenty-five days ago because it was small and on my ankle. Wearing socks in the middle of winter is normal. Wearing long sleeves in 70 degree Fahrenheit weather isn't normal for me though. Before my last relapse, I was three years clean. The last cut I had made was the day before I met her. Then my friend attempted suicide and I relapsed one hundred and twenty-five days ago. And today, I'm just really fucking depressed. I didn't tell her when we first started dating because I had been clean for a few months and I though it would never happen again. I don't scar very visibly, so she never even suspected it. 

Now how the fuck am I supposed to hide this? Should I tell her? What if she leaves me because of it? We've been dating just about two and a half years, I doubt she would leave me for this reason. God I'm such a fucking idiot. 

The front door suddenly opens downstairs and I hear the dog start going insane. Fuck, she's home. 

"Hey Savannah!" I call down the stairs to her, running to put on pants and kick my bloodied sweatshirt under the bed. Once I'm sure it's only visible if you lay on the bedroom floor, I walk out of our bedroom and shut the light of behind me. 

I come down the stairs and offer a nervous smile to my girlfriend. Being preoccupied with the puppy, she doesn't notice my odd behavior. I plop down on the couch and subconsciously pull my sleeves down over my hands.

"Hay Babe," Savannah says to me, looking up and smiling. I nod and smile at her.

"Tired?" she questions. I nod again. 

"Well lucky for you, I brought home stuff for dinner," she points over to the takeout bags left by the door, a huge smile on her face. I try to smile enthusiastically back at her. Savannah suddenly frowns.

"Babe, what's wrong?" she asks. Fuck.

"Period," I reply, probably too quickly. It works though.

"Oh," she says nodding, "well that's okay. After sushi, I'll run you a bath."

"No that's okay, I already took one," I saw, pointing to my hair. I feel horrible lying, but I cannot tell her. 

"Oh... 'kay then," she responds, sounding a little dissapointed. I internally cringe at the fall in her voice. God, why do I have to be suck a fuck up.

*at the dinner table*

I hold the chopsticks in my hand, pushing the sushi around on my plate.  I have absolutely no appetite. 

We sit in silence, Savannah eating her food while I just play with mine. Savannah finishes her last piece and I immediately stand up. 

"Here, let me take that," I say, reaching for her plate.

"Oh no babe, it's fine. I've got..." her voice trails off as she looks down at her plate. She then looks up to me, our eyes meeting. My heart is pounding in my chest, roaring in my ears.

"What's that?" she asks, not letting her gaze move from mine. I glance down at my arm, seeing the first few cuts are visible. My heart speeds up.

I quickly put my plate down on the table next to hers and pull my sleeves down.

"I'm really tired, I think I'm going to go to bed," I quickly say, feeling the panic rising in my chest. I turn away from Savannah and sprint off to the stairs, taking them two at a time up to our bedroom. My hands shake as I turn the light on and lay down in our bed. 

I don't bother to pull the blankets up over me, but simply curl up into a ball and tuck my knees to my chest. I'm shivering despite the heat of the room. I lay like that for five minutes, the house completely silent. 

Then I hear Savannah start climbing up the stairs. Each step she takes sends my heart pounding, faster and faster. A few silent tears slip from my eyes and land on the comforter of the bed. 

Savannah opens the door and a sob escapes my lips. She doesn't say anything. I don't turn to look at her. Suddenly a blanket is laid over me. And then another. Savannah slides into the bed next to me, wrapping her arms around my shivering body. I can hear her breath in my ear as her entire body radiates warmth and comfort into mine. 

"I'm sorry I never-" my voice cracks and cuts off as another sob wracks my body.

"Shhhhhhhhh," Savannah soothes, wrapping her arms tighter around me, "I love you, nothing will ever change that. I'm not mad. I love you and I know that you're strong. I know you're strong, and it hurts me a lot that there was something that hurt you this much."

I curl my body tighter into myself as another sob escapes. I feel a tear from Savannah land on my shoulder.

"I love you, and it's okay. It's okay Babe, really. It's okay," she keeps whispering that it's okay in my ear as more tears fall from my eyes and land on the comforter. I fucked up really badly this time. I really fucked up. 

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So yeah... I was 125 days... I'm not anymore. I'm coming off Zoloft (which kinda worked at 50, but 100 was too much) and going onto Citalopram (I've been on it before, but my doctor wanted to try it again).  I'm really sorry guys. 125 was the longest I've ever been before and now I fucked that up. I wanted to get to a year (November 19th) but I guess relapses happen. I love you all, and thank you for the constant support and love I get. Thank you. Stay strong.

xoxo Louise <3