Scars {Completed}

Chapter Thirty-Two

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Kenzie's POV

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"Before I made that first cut, before I started to harm my body, I thought I would be able to control myself. But with every cut, I felt my pain going away, and found the blood strangely addicting." I say, looking down my hands.

Mark had immediately told the doctors I was awake, and after the nurses had said I was 'healthy', I was put into therapy; wether I was willing or not.

"When was the first time you cut?" My therapist, Dr. Parraguirre, asks.

"When I was 14."

"Do you remember why?"

I nod, "I began feeling lonely. And out of touch with everyone. I started pushing people away and I didn't know how I felt. One day, I was feeling not-so-good, and I saw a safety pin, and... Yeah." I breathe.

She nods, and scribbles something down on her notepad. "Is this when you also started starving yourself?"

I just nod.

"Did starving yourself and cutting make you feel any better?"

"It made me feel in control. My emotions were out of hands, and so was my life. Cutting made me feel good in a way, and starving made me in charge of my weight and body." I say quietly.

"How long have you been clean from cutting?" She asks, looking me in the eye.

I take a minute to think, "I think a little over 1 month." I say, calculating days since my suicide attempt.

"Why haven't you cut?" She asks in a monotone.

"Honestly? Because I can't hurt Mark any more than I already have."

"Mark?" She asks confused.

"Yeah." I smile to myself, thinking of him.

"Who is he? Family? Friend?"

"Boyfriend," I say proudly, "and the only reason I'm still alive."

"You don't seem have much faith in yourself."

"Well, I'm a disappointment to everyone."

"You don't seem to like yourself very much either."

"I just have a tendency to hate myself, I guess." I shrug.

---

Dr. Parraguirre dismisses me and I exit the room to be greeted by Mark.

He walks up to me, intending to give me a hug, but I ignore him.

Hey. Don't get me wrong; I love him; but he was one of the people who made me come to therapy. Not cool.

"Babe, please don't be mad." He whispers, hugging me tightly around my waist.

I don't reply.

"Babe!" He groans, trying to look me in the eye.

He softly cups my face in his hands, and crashes our lips together, causing me to giggle against his lips.

His arms tighten around my waist, almost causing me to tip over, but I wrap my arms around his neck.

"I take it your not mad anymore?" He smirks, between our lips.

"No, but I still don't like you very much." I joke pulling apart from the kiss.

He just laughs, "Hey, it's still early enough to have breakfast. Wanna come over to my place?" He asks.