I walked into my sixth hour, English Language Arts IV, five minutes late.
"Where have you been, Miss Torres?" the teacher asked. Her name, which was written in white chalk on the blackboard, was Mrs. Stewart.
"Somewhere much more interesting than here," I mumbled.
Mrs. Stewart glared at me. "Take a seat, Miss Torres. I'll be counting you tardy," she threatened.
"Okay," I said. "See if I care." I sat back in my chair while Mrs. Stewart went to add a black mark to my attendence record. When she returned, she began droning on about the importance of figurative language in narrative essays. I rolled my eyes, wondering why we had to start a narrative on the second day of school.
Suddenly, the intercom crackled to life above the classroom. "We need Quinn Torres to the counseling office, please," the desk lady said through the microphone, which reflected through the intercom. Everyone turned to stare at me.
"It's your lucky day, Miss Torres," Mrs. Stewart said. "You get to skip class and you have an excuse." I rolled my eyes at her and quickly stood up from my seat. I made my way to the door, feeling all of the eyes on my back as I walked out of class.
When I arrived at the counseling office, I was surprised to see Sam sitting there with the counselor, Mr. Sumner. "Come in, Torres," Mr. Sumner said, gesturing me inside the office. I took a seat in the plush blue chair across from Mr. Sumner's desk and next to Sam. I saw out of the corner of my eye that Sam looked at me worriedly, but I didn't look at him back.
"Torres, Johnson," Mr. Sumner said, addressing us by our last names. "I'm aware that there have been some issues with Torres's self esteem?" I glanced at Sam in confusion. Issues with my self esteem?
"Um, yes," Sam replied.
Mr. Sumner turned to me. "Johnson brought it to my attention that you have been harming yourself," Mr. Sumner said. I glared at Sam. I can't believe him! I screamed in my head.
"So?" I asked, trying to keep a rebellious attitude so he'd leave me alone. "It's none of your business."
"Actually, it is," Mr. Sumner said. "I am the head of the suicide prevention program at our school-"
"I'm not suicidal," I interuppted.
"Torres, most kids who self-harm are suicidal," Mr. Sumner disagreed.
"Well, I'm not most kids," I argued. I turned to Sam. "And I can't believe you got the counselor into this. I don't need your help, Sam. I'm perfectly fine!"
"Then what's this?" Sam yelled, grabbing my arm and twisting it so my scars were on display. "You call this 'perfectly fine'?"
"That's none of your business, Sam!" I screamed, ripping my arm away from him. "You're my boyfriend, not my goddamn father!"
"I'm worried about you, damn it!" Sam exclaimed.
"Language," Mr. Sumner warned.
"I don't want anything to happen to you," Sam continued, starting to tear up. "I care about you too much to let you get hurt."
"I'm sorry, Sam," I said. "But this is a part of me. It may never go away."
"Please," Sam begged. "Please stop, for me." I stared into his beautiful eyes, contemplating my decision. I wanted to assure him that I wouldn't do it again, that I wouldn't ever get hurt again. But then again, it would be a lie. And it killed me to lie to Sam.
"I..." I started, breaking down into tears. "I can't." Sam finally let his tears fall. I began to leave, but Mr. Sumner told me to stay.
"Torres, I'm going to contact your parents," Mr. Sumner told me.
"Please do," I said. "So I can stop. Contact Thomas and Lee Anne Walsh, not Robert Torres. Thomas and Lee Anne are my foster parents."
"Okay," Mr. Sumner said, turning to his computer. "You two get to class."
I swiped away my last tear, heading towards the door. "Are you coming?" I asked Sam.
"I'll stay here for a moment," he said. "I'll come in a few minutes." I nodded, closing the door behind me.
YOU ARE READING
Scarred
Teen Fiction[COMPLETED] SOON TO BE AN EPISODE STORY Quinn Torres feels like she's invisible. It's hard not to feel that way when you have no friends, no family, and absolutely no life. The only thing that makes her feel like a real person is by cutting jagged...
