Half a heart

Chapter 1

I sat trembling in my bed. Your useless. No one loves you. You minus well kill yourself. The words stung like bees in my brain. My hand twitched for the knife that lay unused on my side table. No bailey. Not tonight. Not now. Not ever. I scratched the healing scars. I winced as I picked off a scab. Blood trickled down my wrist. I had to.

I had reasons to self harm. Too many reasons.

I sat up on my bed and began to shake. Tears streamed down my face. I grabbed the knife and dug into my skin. A salty tear fell on a fresh cut and burned. I wanted to stop, I really did. But I couldn't. I wrapped my blanket around my shoulders and curled into a ball. Tears created mini pathways down my cheeks. I dove into another slumber.

Faces filled my head. I was walking down the halls. Looks of disgust darted to my heart. I turned around and was slapped with harsh words. "You shouldn't be alive. Your one of gods mistakes. I can't imagine why he would make an ugly creature like you. I'm sure if you died we'd have a party and no one would miss you. I bet no one would know you were even gone." The red head sneered. Her name was Cecilia. Most people called her Cece. "You can't even stick up for yourself." I stared blankly at her. Not letting her words get inside. Or show that her words stung. "Freak." She bumped my arm as she walked away.

I woke up trembling and in tears. I was scratching at my arms during my sleep and felt light headed. I looked at my arms and saw my wrists stained red and my sheets were damp.

Crap! I thought. I ran to the bathroom and covered my arms in towels. I heard footsteps.

"Honey, wat are you doing." My mom yawned looking at my arms. "We're you digging again?!" My mom rushed over and took off my towels. "Oh honey!" She stuck my arm under the warm water and stroked them with a wash cloth.

"You need to stop." she looked into my eyes. "I'm trying." I sniffed. "No, you need to get away from anything sharp. Do you know what can happen?" Her eyes glistened. I nodded.

"Get ready for school. It's 6." She closed the door and I walked to my room.

All of my shirts had long sleeves. Well I didn't want people to see my "artwork" as my cousin called it.

I breathed in and out slowly as I pulled my hair up into a sleek pony tail. I pulled on my sweat shirt and climbed into the car. I had that feeling where you know you can cry at any moment. You can just, snap.

My mom grabbed my hand and squeezed it, rubbing her thumb over my fingers. "Don't let them get to you. Honey your beautiful." I looked at her gorgeous smile.

I pulled my hood up as I walked out of the car. I trudged to my locker where Cecelia waited. "Oh I thought you died. I mean finally killed yourself!" She rolled her eyes. "Move." I whispered. "Excuse me?" She laughed. "Did ghost girl say something?" She lifted and eyebrow in a smart Alec kind of way. "I said move." I said a little louder. "And if I don't? What are you gonna do."

I nudged her. "Don't you know of personal space?" She crossed her arms. The bell rung. "Oops, I guess your late." She walked across the hall to her first period class. I slung my book bag over my shoulder and trudged to Math.

"Late again Ms. Shale." Mr. Sanders wrote my name on a clipboard. The class giggled. I walked to my desk in the back if the room. I guess it was already occupied. I stood next to the boy with his hood up. He looked up at me. I could barely see his face. "Can I help you?" He asked. "I sit there." I whispered. "I'm sorry." He went to get up. "No I'll just sit here." I took the seat in front of him. I fixed my sleeve that was riding up my arm. I didn't want to mess with another jock.

The bell rung for lunch after 7th period. "Get your hood off freak." I rolled my eyes and turned around to who I thought was Cecelia picking on me. Instead I saw a familiar black jacket and a group of jocks picking at the boys hood. He must not be a jock. I thought. The boys caught my staring at them and rushed over to me. "Hey ghost girl, why you wearing your jacket?" "Yeah let's see what underneath." "Haha probably more ugliness." The boys picked at me. "Get off her." A deep raspy voice said. My eyes widened. The boys didn't stop. "Get off the girl!" A jock flew away from me. I caught a glimpse of a red haired guy. Then the boys attacked him into a complete fist fight. I winced at the boy getting beat up. I didn't realize he was beating the boys up. Towards the end he hit the last football player and he ran away. The "mystery boy" stood there breathing heavily. He looked at me and I caught a good look at his face.

He had sad green eyes like he spent years crying. Like me.

His hair was a messy brown-red. When he looked at me he sighed as if to say,"I'm sorry." He then ran off.

I walked home that day. I shivered from the cold November evening. He did seem cute, hot even. But what I needed to know was why. Why everything about him. Why did he look so apologetic? Why did he seem so mysterious? Why did he save me?

I walked up the pathway and stuck in my key. I stepped into the warm house and took in the smell of freedom. I plopped on the couch and turned on the TV. There wasn't much on but I needed some sound in the house. I felt so lonely. That wasn't new.

My mom didn't get home until 7:30. I didn't know what to do.

You could cut.

A voice in the back of my head spoke.

No, Bailey.

You promised your mom. I looked at my scarred wrists. A tiny hashtag was left at the base of my palm. Half a heart was held at the middle of the side of my hand. Just below my pinky finger on my left hand.

A single tear made it's way down my cheek. I wiped it away and popped food I knew I wouldn't eat in the microwave. I checked the time, 6:45.

I took my food and sat on the couch. My arms tingled at the touch of heat. My mom walked through the door. I could tell she had a bad day. "Your home early." I said.

"They didn't need me." She rolled her eyes as she took off her coat. "Anything new?" She asked. I told her about the boy and what he did.

"Looks like he's got a crush on you." She smiled as she sat next to me. "What I was asking about, were your wrists." I looked away.

"Bail, this is serious! I'm thinking of calling Dr. Tressbee. She can help you." Dr. Tressbee was my therapist, she helped me when I was bullied in sixth grade. When it all started.

"No mom, I'm fine." I looked her in her eyes, trying to persuade her.

"You need help. You don't have a friend to comfort you and I'm not always around to keep you from cutting!" I winced. That whole, no friends, thing stung.

"Mom, it's nothing. Nothing's gonna happen to me. Just let me recover on my own." I stood up to go to my room.

I tucked into my bed and decided to go to bed early. I tried to keep my mind off of my arms. Soon I dove into another terrible sleep.