The Calling | The House of Voices #1

Twelve - Bandages

Bandages

I couldn’t get the boy’s words out of my head.

I tried and I tried, but his evil plans for me just kept on playing over and over again in my mind. And every time I remembered what he’d said he was going to make me do, I burst into tears. That’s why I couldn’t leave the bathroom.

I stayed there, for God knows how long, curled up in a ball on the cold bathroom floor, just crying my eyes out like the spineless sap that I was. I should have been strong. I should have been showing the voices that they didn’t control me. I should have walked out of that bathroom the minute he’d vanished and joined my friends downstairs.

That would have been the brave thing to do.

But no. I’d stayed in the bathroom, instead, knowing that no one would disturb me until after dinner, when Kara wanted to take a shower before bed. That wouldn’t be for another couple of hours, so there was no risk of me getting caught. I was a coward. I kept saying how I wanted to prove to people that I wasn’t crazy; kept saying that I didn’t belong here, but look at how I was acting?

I was crying over something the voice said. Sure I was crying because it had brought up very painful memories, but still… that was no excuse. I had to start standing up to the voices. The more I let them control me, the more pain it was going to cause me in the long run. I had to start dealing with them better.

Looking down at myself, I realized how much I’d already failed in that department.

My arms and legs were covered in bleeding scratch marks, an obvious sign of how distressed I’d been. The scratching wasn’t new. It was something I did unconsciously whenever I was feeling sad or stressed out; something I’d been doing more and more increasingly since that night at Uncle Charlie’s house. But I’d never drawn blood before. That part was new.

Frantic, I grabbed handfuls of toilet paper, soaked them in water and used the damp paper to clean up most of the blood, thankful that my stubby nails hadn’t done too much damage. The wounds on my legs were fairly shallow and were only bleeding slightly.

My arms were a different story.

Though they weren’t too bad, the wounds on my arms were a little deeper than the ones on my legs, and they were bleeding a little more too. Luckily, I hadn’t injured myself badly enough to leave scars, but unless I covered up and wore long sleeves for a few weeks, the wounds on my arms were not going to escape notice.

Sighing sadly, I dumped the used toilet paper in the bin under the sink and hastily began unrolling the sleeves of my t-shirt, frustrated that they only reached up to my elbows. Running a hand through my tangled hair, I stared at the girl in the mirror and vowed that I was going to stop letting the voices get too me like this.

Never again, I promised myself. No more self-harm. No more crying. Never. Again.

Satisfied, I yanked open the bathroom door and rushed out, wanting to get into my room and change into something that covered up my self-inflicted marks. I had only made it a few steps when the sound of footsteps alerted me of the fact that I wasn’t alone anymore.

“October?”

Despite having heard it only a few times before, I recognized the voice instantly.

“What, Parish?” I answered without turning, groaning inwardly when I heard his footsteps grow louder and faster.

“Hey, hang on a sec, okay? I want to talk to you.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. I had the most unbelievably bad luck in the history of the universe, didn’t I? “Fine.” I gave in, slowing to a halt in the middle of the hallway and turning to face him.  “Talk.”