Chapter 8
**TRIGGER WARNING**
I was still curled up in a ball on the floor when I felt some one gently touch my shoulder. I screamed and flinched away from their touch. I sobbed louder. I just want to hurt.
"Danny?" He quietly asked.
"What are you doing here?" I choked out. "I thought you left."
"Did you really think I would leave when you were scared? You're my best friend! I had to make sure you were going to be okay. I kinda stayed and saw the whole thing. You don't... believe them, do you?"
I didn't answer. Of course I did. Why shouldn't I? Why shouldn't I believe that I don't matter, that the world would be better off without me, that I'm worthless, that no one cares, that if I died no one would miss me, that I'm a burden? Why shouldn't I cut myself? Why shouldn't I kill myself? They weren't trying to make me feel down, they were trying to get the truth through my head.
"Nope. No, I don't believe them. Fuck them. I'll see you tomorrow for school, 'kay?" He nodded slowly. "I'll be fine. Trust me." I gave him a fake smile and hoped he didn't see how far into the abyss I was.
"Okay. See you tomorrow." With that, he left. I burst into tears. As much as I don't want him to find out, the fact that he couldn't see the pain I was in, the lack of hope I had, hurt. It hurt a fucking lot, and there was only one thing I knew of that could get rid of that hurt.
I stood up on shaky legs and staggered into my room, reaching for the small box under my bed. I took off the lid, pulling out some slightly bloody gauze and scanning my eyes over the array of razors. I picked out the newest one, I'd only used it a few times so far. I rested the tip against the skin on my arm and pressed down, pulling the blade to my side. It hardly even hurt anymore. I pulled on either side of the cut, trying to get more blood to come out. That was the best part, the blood. A drop had formed at the edge of the cut and swelled up, then slid across my skin. I cleared it off with the gauze before setting back to work, making cut after cut until I was too dizzy to think, then passed out on my bed, feeling sick but undeniably satisfied.
Jake's POV
I didn't trust him. That was such a fake smile! Then why didn't you stay? I should go back. Make sure he's okay. I'm sure he is. But what if he isn't? What if he cut? I'll never forgive you if he did. Cutting. It's an interesting concept. Inflicting pain to forget pain. Causing yourself more needless harm. Self harm. Such a scandalous subject, but what's so bad about it? It doesn't affect anyone else. It's not like drugs or smoking, the only lasting damage is a few scars. Even they fade. It helps people cope. Could it help me? Would it make me forget the divorce? I mean, what's the worst thing that could happen? Other than going too deep and dying, that is. Nothing. It's just another thing for society to judge because they don't understand it. How bad could it really be?
//i know we're deleting author's notes but i want to leave this one up for a bit, hopefully that's ok//
real talk guys, cutting isn't smart. it's addicting as hell. it takes you over and consumes you, until you're left looking at yourself one day thinking that you can't believe what you've turned into. you become a shadow of yourself. the scars become your identity, the razor becomes your best friend, your wrists become your diary, and your life becomes a worthless passage of time that only exists so you can die. there's nothing cute or romantic or quirky about shoving a piece of metal into your body. just. don't. fucking. do. it. please. you start to believe that it's all you are. it doesn't make you any less, but trust me, you're so much more than the scars on your skin.
you're alive, and existing against all odds. you can do anything. there's a heart in your chest that has never betrayed you for your entire life. there's a whole world inside of you, and a whole world on the outside that needs you and wants you and loves you and deserves you. how beautiful is that?
~cherish your life and live before you lose it~
