Without The Love ||Jiley||

Chapter 19

I sit down on a log in front of the quiet lake. Birds softly chirp and clap their wings. I put my backpack next to me behind the log and rest my head on the palms of my hands. The sun comes through a hole in the roof of leafes and shines upon my face. I close my eyes and listen to my surroundings. I sigh and look up. I want to get away from here. There's nothing left here. I am so tired and broken, that the pain from my wounds and bruises just fades away. Mentally wounded is worse than physically. But your physical wounds can damage your mentality too. What am I gonna do? There must be a way to get out clean, but how? So many questions and so less answers. My eyes are heavy. The last hot summer sun shines on my bare arms. A woman with a dog walks by. With watery eyes, I look after her. She gives me a look with sorrow in her eyes and I turn away. I stroke with my hands through my hair and bend forward. The wind grows stronger and bends my hair in the cold air. The sun slowly disappears behind a dark grey cloud. I sigh and stand up. "Better get home before rain starts pouring down Miley." I say to myself out loud and grab my backpack, swinging it over my shoulder.

I walk up the front porch steps and open the door with my spare keys. I walk inside and shove my shoes out, throw my backpack on the stairs and hang my coat in the wardrobe.  "Hey." I quietly say and fall down in the couch. Mom's cooking dinner and the smell floats into my nostrils.  "Miley. We got a call from school today. They said you skipped 4 classes." My mom says and I sigh. I already know where this is heading towards. "Why did you skip them? I heard that you were pretty upset by the fight between two boys." She says and looks at me. Dad casually reads the paper and doesn't involve himself into the conversation. "I just was." I shortly answer. I'm not going to confess everything that happened. That'll only make things worse. I'm all alone now. Except for school, where I'd rather not go to since my photo's leaked. I feel even more down and depressed than before. My stomach grumbles but my head denies that I'm hungry. "You can't do this to me! You don't know what I'm going through." I say and stand up. "Then tell us. What are you going through?" My dad asks me and looks at me with worry on his face. His face trips me out. The look in his eyes is so painful. "I can't... tell you." I say and look down. "You can tell us anything honey." Mom says and sits down. "I can't." I say for the last time and run up stairs, tears rolling down my cheek again. I walk towards the bathroom. There must be something that lets my mental stress go away. Physical pain? My heart pounds in my chest. Didn't dad have an old fashioned razor blade in his drawer? While I'm searching for it, I'm trying to push the idea away. I don't want to hurt myself, but I'll have to so I'll stop thinking about everything. Once I found the sharp kind of knife, I slide my fingertops over the sharp side. If I pushed too hard, it would've cut in my fingers. I hold my finger above our porcelain white sink. I gently touch the knife with my fingertop and slide through my flesh. A stinging feeling shoots through my arm and I put the knife down. I close my eyes and concentrate on the pain. I look down in the sink and see three drips of blood slowly rolling down into the hole. I hold my finger underneath the tap and turn the cold water tap on. It makes the pain go away and I'm back to normal again. "Wow." I say and breathe heavily. I smile and look at myself in the mirror. The rush that it gave me, it overwhelmed me. I now understand why some people can be addicted to self harm.

I clean the knife. "One more time." I whisper to myself and whip my hair over my  shoulder. I roll my sleeve up and look at my clean arm. I can literally see my veins under my skin. My eyes widen and I put the blade on my arm. I push it into my flesh and pull it towards me. I groan softly and the knife falls into the sink. I hold my arm above it and open my eyes. Blood drops roll down my arm. The pain makes me feel alive. It makes me feel again. I look at the dark red liquid in the snow white sink. I take a wash lobe out of the drawer and wipe the blood away. I turn the cold tap on and hold my arm underneath of it. The water cools it again, but the pain doesn't go away. It stopped bleeding, yes. I look into the mirror. My make up has run out and I look horrible. I wash the blood in the sink away and open the bathroom door. I need something where I'll drift away. If I'll keep cutting myself, people'll notice. There must be something that stops me from hurting? I walk into my bedroom and open my laptop. Because of my bored ness, I open Facebook and look on my News Feed. Katy posts all kinds of poetry on her page, leading to me. I open a chat log with her and start a conversation. I have to go to some kind of party, where nobody knows me. I need to get away for a few moments.

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A bit short... but I ran out of inspiration. Anyways, I don't cut myself for if you thought I did. And if you do, I completely understand it, just like Miley in this story. It's terrible. But you'll have to stop doing it. There must be a way somewhere in the very back of your mind♡