Closer || (n.j.)

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve--
"What's wrong?" I sat by my boyfriend after he got home from the studio. It's been a few weeks since our accident, and he's finally up for driving again, as well as myself. We were both sitting on the leather couch, Nick looking uneasy.

"Don't wanna talk about it." He mutters under his breath.

"Babe, I won't be able to sleep tonight knowing there's something wrong. You know I worry like that." I pry and pry at him.

"I don't want to talk about it Mar." His jaw muscles tighten and he continues to look straight forward.

"Come on, Nick." I knew I shouldn't, but I did.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" He gets up and just about looks ready to flip the table. I've never seen him this mad. He storms out of the room, slamming the front door. I stood up, shocked. He had been acting very reserved for the past week, so maybe it was something I did. I walk out of the house, seeing Nick walking down the street.

"We can talk about this!" I yell, running to him. When I catch up, he doesn't look at me, but just keeps walking.

"You've been really keeping to yourself this week. I wanna know what's up, maybe I can try to help." My voice was near whining.

"You can't fix this Marni! This is the one thing you can't do! Obviously, you can't get that through your thick skull! I need time to myself, everyone does, get used to it!" With that, he starts to jog away. I wasn't even sure if he was going to apologize to me for this one. I stood there, in the middle of the road, numb, before I heard a horn honk behind me. I jumped and got out of the car's way, the man rolling his eyes and flipping me off. I watch as he drives away, seeing him ride right past Nick.

When it gets to the evening, Nick is in the living room and watching some movie.

"What do you want for dinner?" I ask him, my voice stone cold.

"Whatever. I don't care." Fine. If he wants to be that way, I can play this game too buddy. I banged pots and pans around, on purpose, as I got a pan from the cupboard. I knew that he didn't like that noise. I know, childish.

"Can you please stop that?!" I hear him groan and his voice is loud. I quit it right away, standing up slowly, and half expecting him to be standing on the other side with a scowl on his face. I put the pan on the stove and started making grilled cheese. By the time it was done, Nick was asleep on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. I gave him a light kiss on the cheek, and he turns over instantly. I feel years prick at my eyes, but blink them back quickly.

That night, I sleep alone.

"What did I do wrong?" I sob into Elvis' fur, feeling empty inside.

"Did he just wake up one morning and start hating me? He hasn't been treating me very good either. Am I not being a good and supportive girlfriend?" I realize that I'm just talking to myself at this point. I roll over, staring at the door and thinking he's just going to come in the room, and apologize and......

"It's not gonna happen. When he's mad, he's mad. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it doesn't feel too good." I sigh and give up. I looked at the scars on my wrist, running a finger over them. I had given myself these scars when my mother left, and when my Dad went to jail. I found a small pocket knife in my Dad's toolbox and I've used it to cut ever since. I don't do it constantly, only when I feel real pain. And this was one of those moments. I got up from the bed and walked over to my drawer that held my panties and bras, and I knew that Nick would never go in there so that's where I hid my knife, and I took out the small silver object. I held it in my hands, realizing that I hadn't cut in almost two years now.

When it was more frequent, it didn't really hurt anymore. It felt normal. I never told anyone, sometimes it was the only friend I had. I never thought I would say that, but it's true. A small pocketknife was my only friend. I took the sharp object in my hand, walking to the bathroom and locking the door. I sat on the cover of the toilet, revealing my other wrist to myself. I had never cut that one. Whenever I wore short sleeve shirts, I'd make sure not to show my wrist. Nick didn't know either, and I trusted him with everything I had. I opened up the knife and started to pierce my skin with it. I knew just how deep to cut so I didn't do any major damage to myself.

"Mm....that hurts." The tears fell onto my forearm as I kept cutting myself. This was my only release of pain. I considered going to a counselor, but I resorted to this. I hadn't wanted anyone to think I was crazy by going to a counselor, and I sure didn't want my Dad to think his daughter was insane.

"God...." That was all I say before I continued to made a third line on my wrist. When that was done, I was cautious to wash everything up and show no sign of it. I crack open the door and see Nick turned by his dresser, his shirt off.

"D*mnit." I curse under my breath, shutting the door quietly. I leaned against it, crying harder, but silently. I sharply inhaled as I heard our bedroom door shut. I sneak out of the bathroom, totally oblivious to the fact that Nick is laying in the bed. I stride over to my dresser and carefully put the knife away. When I turn around, Nick is looking at me.

"What?" I nervously smile, hiding my arms.

"What were you just putting away?" He asks, his tone gentle.

"It was nothing. Forget it." I walk over to the bed, my arms behind my back.

"You can tell me." He said softly as I laid down, and he kissed my jaw. This was his way of apologizing. And he knew that it drove me absolutely crazy.

"You can't fix this Nick." I say, my voice cracking. He looks taken aback by the way I shot his own words back at him.

"You can't fix me. No matter how hard you try." I fight back tears and bite my lip.

"Fix you? What are you talking about?"

"Just forget it. Forget it." I shake my head. I roll over so my back is to him. Nick puts his chin on my shoulder, looking down at me like a lost puppy. He gets a look at my wrists. A good look at them.

"What? What are those marks?" I immediately hide them, feeling angry at myself. Now he was turning this whole thing around. First I was the one begging for him to open up to me, but he had to go and switch things.

"Cutting. I cut." I let out a big breath, scared of his reaction.

"No. No, you seem so happy all the time and....why? Why do you do that?" I'm still facing the wall, not looking at him.

"It was when my Mom left. Then when my Dad had gone to jail multiple times. It was the only way for me to cope. This was the first time I'd done it in two years. I was just so hard on myself because you've barely been talking to me. I don't expect you to feel bad for me either." But in the silence we were sitting in, I could tell that he felt sympathy for me already.

"Goodnight Nick." I say, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Instead of closing my eyes, I just inspected my new cuts on my wrist. They didn't hurt, at all. It released my pain.