The pictures that you sent me they’re still living in my phone
I admit I like to see them, I admit I feel alone
I wish that I could wake up with amnesia
And forget about the stupid little things
Like the way it felt to fall asleep next to you
And the memories I never can escape...
Lindsay and Rebecca came back today, to check up on me as always. I'm surprised Lindsay keeps coming back when I just yell at her every time she comes around.
At least she's loyal, I remind myself.
"How are you?" Rebecca asks in the same way she always does. They speak to me like a child and I fucking hate it.
"I'm fine." That's a lie but I'm too tired to give an actual answer.
Lindsay sighs; I know she knows I'm not fine.
"Did you call her?" Rebecca asks.
"Yeah."
"Really? What did she say?"
"Not much. I called, she answered and I didn't say anything so she hung up." I shrug.
"You were meant to call her and try to get her to see how you are." She lightly scolds me.
"She doesn't need to see how I am and even if she did, she wouldn't care. She's not coming back, why can't you just get it through your head?" I snap at Rebecca, undeserving of my anger. My moods have just been all over the fucking place lately and I can't control them.
"Hey, don't yell at her!" Lindsay defends her best friend.
"I'm sorry." I mutter and Rebecca offers me a smile and promises that it's okay.
I'm just tired. I'm tired of always having to fight off the people that try to get me better. I'm tired of thinking about her. I'm tired of wondering what she's doing when she couldn't care less of what I'm doing. And I'm tired because I can't make it through the night without waking up at least twice from nightmares.
"I'm sorry, I-I just need some space." I bring my knees to my chest, rest my arms on my knees and bury my face in there in hopes to hide from the rest of the world. I wince slightly as I put pressure on the cut on my wrist from last night.
Yeah, I did it. It was only one cut but I just reopened a whole world of hurt I pushed away years ago.
I hear the two girls sigh, one of them set a hand on my shoulder before the two of them exit my room.
They probably think I'm a lost cause; they keep trying and trying but I continue to shut them out. I appreciate their efforts but there's no point anymore.
* * * *
It's nighttime now, and whilst the boys and Lindsay and Rebecca are loudly enjoying their dinner, I'm locked away in my room as always. Luke was nice enough to bring a plate to my room but I haven't been able to eat and hold my food the past few days, so I leave it to sit and waste by my door where he left it.
I'm looking through my phone right now, swiping through my camera roll and looking at all the pictures I have of her. Some of them she sent to me, some of them I took of her when she wasn't looking -those are my personal favorite, and some of them are us together. I remember each time I took each of these pictures and I remember the happiness I felt then. Now, I just feel alone. I look through them all the time and I like to see them. It reminds me of a happier time.
I can't tell if I like these memories I have daily; all they do is make me sadder than I already am. But at this point, memories and these pictures are all I have of her and I'll hold onto them forever, no matter how much they hurt.
But sometimes I just wish that I could forget, like all the little things. I could forget about the way it felt to hold her in my arms at night, or the way her lips tasted like her favorite strawberry Chapstick, or the way we made love. If only I had amnesia.
* * * *
Calum comes bursting into my room the following night, looking angrier than I've ever seen him.
"What the fuck is this?" He asked, holding the razor blade from the other night in his fingers. I threw it away after I used it and I made sure to bury it deep in the bin in the bathroom so it wasn't in plain sight.
"My old razor." I answer as casually as possible, my untruthful casuality contrasting to my racing heart.
"Why is there dried blood on it and on the floor?" He knows, shit of course he knows. I was slightly careless when I cut, not hiding my tracks well enough, but I was pretty drunk at the time as well.
I don’t answer; I’m like a kid caught doing something naughty.
"Lift up your sleeve." He orders in a low voice.
"No! I don't have to lift up my sleeve!" I refuse, and Luke and Michael come running into the room.
“What’s wrong?” Luke looks worried.
“Ashton’s cutting again!” Calum points his finger at me, and Luke’s and Mikey’s faces fall with clear disappointment and they both turn their heads to look at me.
“Is that true?” Michael almost whispers, like he doesn’t want to believe it. Calum rudely takes the liberty of lifting the sleeve of my jumper to show my wrists. I didn’t put on my bracelets and you could clearly see the newly opened cut among my closed scars. Luke and Michael gasp and I duck my head.
“You promised, Ashton.” Calum reminds me, in a gentler voice than he was using earlier.
“I’m sorry!” I tear my arm out of Calum’s grip. “I had no other choice!”
“Yes, you did! You could have talked to one or all of us if you were feeling sad!” Michael starts to yell at me.
“No I couldn’t!”
“You honestly don’t think you can talk to us?” Calum seems hurt and I feel bad.
Luke doesn’t give me a chance to answer Calum, “Why’d you cut? You’ve been clean for over a year and a half, and now you decide to go back to it? There better be a good reason.”
“I just- I found the blade and I was remembering the times I would cut and I thought about when she found my scars. She said to me, ‘If you ever feel like you want to cut again, let me know and I'll always be here to talk to you.’ And I just thought… she’s a liar. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Were you drunk?” Michael asks.
“Yeah.”
“Ash, that’s dangerous! You have no control over yourself when you’re drunk and you want to cut your wrists?” He scolds me.
“And you think I have control over myself when I’m sober?! I don’t even know who I am anymore, okay! I’m sorry I relapsed, but you just don’t understand!” It’s my turn to yell again. I don’t know how I can always turn something into a screaming match with my friends.
“We’re trying to understand, but we can’t know how you’re feeling or what you’re going to do when you’re in your room getting smashed every day. We want you to be able to talk to us, especially if you want to hurt yourself.” Luke gently says. They all look so sad and tired, I just wonder what I did to my friends. I’m miserable every day and all I’ve done instead of trying to get better and to look past all the pain, is make my friends miserable and hurt myself even more.
“I’ll try.” I mumble, indirectly saying I’ll try to get better. They solemnly nod their heads and I’m carefully taken into a group hug. I may be the oldest, but at this point, I’m the most fragile.
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Aww bby Ash! :(
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Xoxo Sabrina
