Exposed.

{7}

SORRY MY UPDATES ARE HELLA LONG AND SLOW BUT IM BUSY WITH SCHOOL. HOPEFULLY NOW THAT SCHOOL IS OVER I CAN WRITE ALOT.

I don't know what to say.

"Is this why you've been different lately?" Jonas looks dissapointed yet, worried. "Brook, whats going on?"

"They're meds, for my arm pain," I try to make up a quick lie. I snatch them from his hand but he grabs my arm and I don't look at him. Tears fill my eyes, I can't face him right now.

"Brook, please look at me," I shake my head, still facing the opposite direction. He lets go of my arm, stands in front of me and carresses my head with his hands. He can see the tears in my eyes, falling one at a time. He grabs my arm again and starts to lift my sleeve. I try to lose his grip but his hands hold on tight. "Let me see." I cry some more, still not looking at him. He lifts my sleeve even further and sees the scars. Cuts everywhere. "Brook..you've been cutting?" He lets go of my arm and I reattach my sleeve to my arm. He forcefully turns me around making me look at him.
"You are going to be okay. I'm not gonna make you tell me whats wrong now but I'm gonna help you." He opens up the bottle and gives me a pill. Just one. "That's for the pain. The physical one." He takes out his notebook from his bag and writes down something on a piece of paper. "Here's my number. Call me as soon as you get home."

"I don't need your pity," I walk away but again he stops me.

"Its not pity, Brook. Its called help."

"I didn't ask for any." Before I know it, he takes the paper, folds it up and puts it in my back pocket.

"Call me."

I walk away, paper in back pocket and proceed my walk home.

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Arriving to my house, I open the door and dads home.

"Brookie, why are you home so late? Doesn't school end at 2?"

"Study group at the library."

"Oh okay, well I made pasta if..." Before he finished I'm upstairs, room door closed.