Kendall

6

   He knows.

  Slit.

  Oh, God, he knows my secret.

  Slit. Slit. Slit.

    Each cut gets a little deeper, a bit more longer, a lot more painful. My arm is bright crimson. I focus on the pain as the tiny ruby droplets fall onto the white floor. This is the worst I've ever cut myself. I guess I just went into some kind of... panic mode after Peter and Brody left. I just grabbed a blade from the box and violently started slashing away.

   Did Peter already know? What would happen tomorrow when I would see them at school? I've never seen Brody around at school, but I'm sure I will find him tomorrow giving me that same viscous glare. If Brody would tell Peter what would stop him from telling everyone else? Mr. Porter? Aunt Jade? I will be shipped off to the nut house.

    Was Brody really that kind of person?

    "You're crazy." he said. I don't think I can face him ever again.

    A small part of me whispers that he isn't, but the other part, the more louder part, is screaming at me to press the blade down a little harder, because that is what a crazy person like me would do. The louder part of me says I should go and tell my aunt before she hears it from the rest of the town. What would she do when she found out, send me to those houses for suicidal teens? I don't think I could take it there.

    Aunt Jade began fussing over me as soon as I stepped through the front door. Wondering where I was, who were the two boys in the drive-way, and why I didn't tell her where I was going. I explained hurriedly, editing a few parts out, and hustled to the bathroom with my bag of fresh blades while tossing her an apology.

    Fresh blades cut the skin with a small amount of pressure, and when I pressed down deeper than usual, the skin ripped apart and the blood rushed out.

    I remember reading about people who cut, and how they dealt with all the blood. Most of them said the blood was the best part, that the loved to see flow out of them and let it stain their skin while gliding down their arms like teardrops. I don't know how they could enjoy that part, I only did this for the pain. To focus on all the pain. As a punishment.

    I let the blade fall from my clutch and to the ground. I look down at my arm. I've added large new wounds and reopened fresh ones. I'm losing too much blood. I actually feel cold and clammy and numb. What if I need stitches? These cuts are pretty deep. I'm too weak to even cry.

    Just breathe. Brody isn't going to tell anyone. No one will find out. You don't need stitches. Just breathe. I repeat it over and over until I feel a little -but not much- better.

   I rise warily, feeling light headed, and turn on the tap. Once all traces of blood are gone from the floor, I decide to bathe. As I sink into the lukewarm water, I realize what a horrible idea it was to bathe with fresh cuts. I cry out in agony as my arms feel like they are lit on fire. I force myself to stay under the water and deal with this pain. I think I possibly hate this part more than dealing with the blood. Over time, I learn to ignore the painful burning.

    Out of boredom I count my cuts. Sadly, I have thirty-seven on my left arm and twenty-four on the left. I don't even want to glance down at my stomach and legs now. Brody is right, I'm crazy and I need help. Just thinking of him now makes me sick. His face pops into my head. He looked so angry and hurt outside the mall. I can't shake the image of his icy glare towards me when I left.

    The two soft knocks at the door help to blur Brody's image, but it still lingers there unfortunately.      

   "Kendall?" my aunt jiggles the door knob. "Kendall, I'm sorry. I was just so worried..."

    "No," I answer quickly," You were right to be angry. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

    "Um...okay. Just... don't do it again. Are you okay in there?" Could she have any clue as to what I was just doing? Maybe she's had suspicions. It wouldn't surprise me if she would snoop in my room and find some blades under my mattress.

    "Yes, just taking a bath." my voice shakes.

    A few seconds later I hear her walk away. I sigh and close my eyes.

    How hard could it be, to just end it all here right now? A few minuets underwater without breathing. Or maybe I could breathe in the bathwater and let it fill my lungs. The water creeps up my chest and crawls up my neck before I realize I am sinking myself lower into the tub. I stop when the water reaches my nose for a moment before pushing myself to the bottom. I open my eyes and immediately they burn, though despite the pain they remain open. Seconds tick by without oxygen and after a minute my chest tightens. I squirm and my head begins to hurt. I can't help but part my lips and suck in. The water obviously chokes me causing me to jerk up and cough it all out. I gasp for the sweet air until it passes easily through my lungs again. No wonder I haven't committed suicide yet, I suck at it.

    I hop out the tub and wrap a towel around myself before I decide to something stupid again.

    Skipping dinner is easy for once. My aunt and uncle do not bother me surprisingly. I try to fall asleep but I keep tossing and turning. I keep thinking of Brody, glaring at me, shoving me against the wall and demanding to know why I did this. He saw my arms! He just rolled up my sleeves and saw the mess. The thoughts distress me, so I think of the painting of the couple lying in the meadow.

    Eventually the girl becomes me. I'm lying next to the painted boy. For a moment everything is frozen, but then the aroma from the flowers is powerful in my nose. I can feel the breeze stroking my face gently. The boy begins to move, too. He grabs me and pulls me to him. His touch is warm and gentle. My stomach does a flip.

    The boy pulls back, and he has turned into Brody. "Darling," he says." You're crazy."

　

　   When I wake up, I could cry. I barely know this boy and I'm dreaming of him? It all was pretty enchanting in a way. The scenery, the smells, the touch, was all so amazing. When he would touch me it felt so real. I could feel butterflies in my stomach. Once I opened my eyes, it all faded away and I knew I could never get that feeling back.

    I sit up when I hear someone walk past my room. They are crying softly. These walls are just too thin.

    Making my way down the hallway quieter than a mouse, I freeze when I see her.

    Aunt Jade sits by the window weeping with something in her hands. I haven't seen her cry since the funerals. Usually when people cry, their faces get scrunched up, and red, and very unattractive, but not Aunt Jade. She cries like the people in the movies, no red scrunch face at all. She actually looks pretty when she cries. Can someone look pretty crying?

    Though why is she crying? Should I go to her? I decide quickly not to. She would probably just order me to bed anyway.

    Essie begins to cry and my aunt gets up slowly, setting the object she was crying over down on the chair. I quickly open the closet door next to me and slide in before she notices me. When Essie stops crying I walk out the closet and head to the chair. It's a picture frame. I bring it to the light from the moon and see my mom's smiling back at me from behind the frame's glass.

    Aunt Jade was still mourning my mother. They weren't very close when mom was alive, so it is strange knowing my aunt is still upset months later. Sad to say, I know. Sometimes it is strange thinking my aunt has any feeling at all.

    I've never seen this picture before. Mom looks really young, maybe about twenty-five years old. Her tiny wrinkles are gone and her eyes are brighter and have such a youthful look. She is leaning against a tree, her hair was blowing in the wind at the time and it made her looks like a model. I smile and almost laugh at the thought of my being a model. Sure she had the long legs for it, but she was way too clumsy with no shoes, much less with some stilettos on. I give the picture a kiss and set it back down. I start losing a few tears of my own going back to my room.

    My sheets are cold again when I wrap myself up in them. Finally they warm and I can feel myself falling into a slumber, but before I do, I understand why my aunt is so upset.

    I cannot believe I forgot my mom's birthday was today.