Blessing In Disguise

Original | Chapter Thirteen

(Demi's POV)

Sierra thankfully fell asleep sometime during the ride to the cabin. Once we arrive, I park the car, shut it off, and walk over to the passenger side. Being as quiet as I can manage, I open the door and carefully lift the motionless girl up bridal style, almost gasping at how light she is. I carry her to the front door, which I unlock, and lay her down on the couch. I know that Sierra will probably freak out when she wakes up in this unfamiliar place, but I think that this will all be for the best.

Knowing that Sierra's probably not going to wake up any time soon, I grab my water bottle that I was drinking earlier from the fridge and enter my office space. I dump the trash can out onto the floor, emptying it of all the past letters that I've written, mingling the older ones with the more recent ones. I smooth each one out against my knees before letting them drift back into the can. Now all I have to do is keep Sierra from nosily rummaging in the trash can. Then again, what kind of kid would want to do that in the first place?

I pick my water bottle up from the floor where I previously set it down and exit the office to check on Sierra. I find her still asleep, curled up in the fetal position. She looks so adorable when she's sleeping. 

I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm honestly a little jealous of this girl. She's so sweet, which instantly attracts people to her, while I'm a complete bitch who does nothing but push people away. Her eyelashes are so long that they brush against her porcelain skin, and her blonde hair surrounds her head like a golden halo. She has one of those smiles that instantly lights up a room because of its beauty. I've heard some people say that my smile does the same thing, but I don't believe them. There is nothing beautiful about me. Nothing at all.

My thoughts are interrupted when Sierra stirs in her sleep, emitting a soft snore.

I smile at the sight, but guilt churns in my stomach. How could I have been so cruel to her? I wouldn't blame her if she loathes me and never wants to speak to me again. All we do now is scream at each other, me being the provoker.

Sierra stirs again, causing her sweater to bunch up. It occurs to me that I should get her a blanket, but my eyes catch sight of something that distracts me from that passing thought.  I ignore the triggering thoughts beginning to enter my mind and move closer to her, feeling tears spring to my eyes as I see the dozens and dozens of cuts and scars that line the young girl's wrists and abdomen. Some of the scars look a couple of years old while some of the cuts are angry-looking and appear to be on the verge of bleeding.

Without thinking, I move further forward, cautiously taking hold of one of her wrists. My fingers trace the scars, avoiding the very fresh cuts. I don't realize that I'm crying until my tears start to splatter against Sierra's skin. I inhale a sharp breath as she moans in her sleep, trying to snatch her wrist out of my grasp. I don't know why I keep holding onto her, but I do.

Soon enough, her eyes flutter open to find me holding her mangled wrist. She blinks, as if her mind is trying to cling to a thought, then rubs the sleep from her eyes with her free hand. As if realizing that she's not dreaming, her eyes widen, her gaze wildly shifting from my face to my hold on her wrist and back again.

"You're crying," she quietly states.

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. She just awoke to find me holding her scarred wrist, and that's the first thing that comes out of her mouth?

"Huh?"

"You're crying," Sierra repeats.

"I-I know," I stutter, sniffling as I drop my hold on her wrist.

"Why?" she questions, sitting up and pulling down her shirt enough to hide her stomach but not her wrists.

"Why what?"