Confiding in You ϟ a.i.

Chapter 25

On Monday morning, another nightmare causes me to jump up out of my sleep, covered in a layer of sweat. I'm shaking and near tears, like always. This is starting to get old honestly. What's new, though, is that I find myself wishing that Ashton was here so I could at least go back to sleep.

I rub my temples aggrivatedly and squint at the clock on my nightstand. There's only an hour until I have to get up, anyway, so it wouldn't matter if he was here. And Ashton didn't bother to text or call me to apologize for how harsh he was, so he wouldn't want to be here and I figure I have to get up earlier to catch the bus with my brother. This is just great.

"For fucks sake," I sigh, standing from my bed and walking over to my bathroom. The sound my carpet makes when I step on a certain spot is much more annoying than nostalgic now and I groan when it happens, stomping the rest of my way to the shower.

I peel off my clothes tiredly and turn the water on as hot as it can go. What I want is to feel something, but I flinch the moment it touches me. So maybe that isn't the right way to go about it. I turn the cold on a little and it gets less scolding and more comforting. Leaning my head back, I let it dampen my hair and roll down my back.

When I reach out to get my shampoo, the fresh cuts on my wrist catch my eye and a sick feeling fills my stomach. They aren't deep, merely scratches if anything. But they're there and looking at them just makes me feel guilty. I'd gone months without it, going through recovery, and now I'm back at square one.

I'm at least lucky that I didn't relapse on a school night and could actually get up today. The whole situation drained me of any energy I had and yesterday all I did was stay in bed and continue to think of everything that was wrong. There was just so much going through my head that it lasted me the entire day.

And that's what's so horrible about it. It didn't fix anything, in fact it made everything a little bit worse. Yet every time I think about what I'm stuck with, I just want to do it more. In that moment it makes it feel better and that's enough for me.

I finish showering and lazily get out, wrapping a towel around myself quickly before I can look at myself in the mirror. There are plenty of things that make me sick and looking at myself, seeing the bruises and the scars and over all just feeling disgusting, has become one of them.

I hurry out of the bathroom and, although feeling much more energized than yesterday, still feel too worn out to put any effort into what I'm wearing. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm pretty sure just by being me I've ruined it with Luke and, clinging so pathetically to his care, I've ruined it with Ashton. I'm alone and I have no one to impress.

The front of my closet is full of all of my pretty clothes, so I push my way to the back and grab an old sweatshirt. I think the last time I wore it was when I was last self-harming. Well, might as bring this back too, I shrug, pulling it over my head. I muster up enough energy to actually put jeans on too before returning to the bathroom.

The bruise is beginning to heal, at least. But the hickey given to me by Luke has just replaced it as an unflattering blemish. How am I even supposed to get rid of one of these? Aren't I supposed to like, rub a coin over it or something? I don't know. I wouldn't know, I've never been in this situation until now.

I grab my foundation off the counter and thankfully it works better to cover things up this time. The concealer and some powder are the only other things I do to make up my face. If I didn't have to cover anything up, I wouldn't put make up on at all, really. I just want to get through the day.

Taking a deep breath, I leave my room for the first time since Saturday night and move slowly down the stairs to the kitchen. Just my luck, too, as Cooper and my mother are sitting inside and sharing breakfast. I avert my eyes from the both of them and hope I go relatively unnoticed as I grab a bowl from the cupboard for cereal.