The exception -- A bughead story

Chapter 3: Betty - "Forget everything I said last night."

! WARNING: includes self harm !

I awake to the back of Jughead. "Jughead, are you ok?" I say before I can stop myself. Why did I say that? Why do I care so very, very much? He turns around. "Betty, I gotta go. Please forget everything I said last night." Before he turns around again and gets up, I see a single tear escape. I ache inside to see him cry. Why, why, why? Why is he suddenly so important to me? Before I can  say anything more, he jumps out my window. "Jughead!!!" I scream, worried he's hurt himself. Without even thinking, I run to my window. But before I can look out, my bedroom door slams open. "Elizabeth Cooper. Would you like to explain what you're shouting 'Jughead' at this god-awful hour?" My mom snaps. I begin to shiver. "N- Nothing, mom." I barely whisper. Her eyebrows narrow. "Speak up, dear." She grits her teeth. "I had a nightmare..." I say a little louder. Her eyes pierce mine. "Who is Jughead?!?" She yells. I shake my head, crying once again. She gets closer to me, then she slaps me. "Shut up, girl! Don't make me ever have to come into your room in the middle of the night again, understand!?!" She growls. I nod, feeling my cheek that had gone completely red from where she's slapped it. My mom storms out, nearly taking the door of its hinges when she closes it. I sink onto my knees, crying again.

A few hours later, at around 3 o'clock, I open my bedroom door. I am still crying, but not as much. It has been silent this time. I sneak down the stairs. If I wake her up again, she'll hurt me more. I'm a devil child. No one deserves such an awful, disobedient child. I enter the kitchen, searching through the drawers as quietly as possible. Eventually, I find the knife drawer. My hands clasp the biggest one, the one my dad uses for cutting meat. I start cutting open the healed scars on my wrist. I had promised myself not to do this again, but I couldn't stop it. I deserve this. My back slides down the drawers, and I sit crying on the kitchen floor, trying to keep the blood from dropping on my parents' linoleum. I'm not happy, not really. Everyone always just assumes I am. No one ever asks me if I'm really alright.

I later calm down enough to stop. That promise I made was to keep me from myself, but sometimes I just can't. I wipe the knife clean, then check the floor. That was how my parents found out before, after they took Polly away from me. I've been depressed ever since then, but my mom told me I had to hide it. She makes me put on a happy face and pretend I'm okay. It wasn't so much Polly being absent that triggered me, it was where she went. They told me she was crazy. That was it. I started thinking I was crazy too. I grab the first aid box, looking for bandages. I find some, and wrap my arms with them. Then I walk upstairs, ashamed of what I have done. I get into my bed, and fall asleep instantly.