Broken: Emily's Story

7

I look away from him. I don't want him here. After a minute, though, it seems he won't leave.

Go away, I say. No, he says back. Go away, I say again, more forcefully. No, he says back, just as forcefully.

He sits down in front of me. And just sits there. And sits there.

What do you want? I growl.

I want you to tell me what happened, he says.

What do you mean? I ask, sitting up.

I mean, this, he says. He quickly grabs my arm and yanks the sleeve up, revealing my whole arm, including the gauze on my new ones. My whole arm lights on fire, and my eyes stream tears from the pain.

Why do you care? I say around the pain.

Because I still love you. And I didn't mean to hurt you. I don't know what was wrong with me, he says.

I just sit there and stare at him. I didn't know if I should believe him. I really wanted to but I couldn't let it go.

He drops my arm. He stands up.

Eric, what are you doing? I ask.

I'm leaving, he says. He turns around and walks away.

I sit there for a minute, watching him leave. And I suddenly feel alone. I pull my sleeve down and follow him.

Eric, wait, I call. He stops. I catch up to him. I'll tell you. But not here.

My parents aren't home. Do you want to, he starts.

Yes, there works. That's where it started anyway, I tell him.

He nods and starts walking again. I follow after him, a few paces behind him. Every part of me tells me not to. But I ignore it. If it happened again, I wouldn't care. I just wanted a friend. I need to tell someone.

We go through his front door and to his room again. He closes his door. He turns to me, expectant.

I sigh. I will tell you, but first, I need to show you something, I tell him.

I grab the bottom of my hoody, and steeling myself, pull it over my head. I hear him gasp. I ignore him, because what I'm about to do now is scaring me.

I was glad I decided to wear a camisole under my shirt today. Quickly, I pull my shirt over my head too. I feel exposed doing this.

Oh my god, Emily, he practically whispers.

I have more. It would just be inappropriate to show you, I tell him. For the first time, I feel guilty for cutting myself. I look away from him.

I've been doing it since that day. I've been trying to get rid of my memories, I say. I tell him about that day, my dad, my mom, my dreams, everything.

When I'm finished, I realize I'm crying. I sit down on the ground, next to my hoody and shirt. Not long after, he sits next to me and gently pulls me into him. I lean against him, crying silently.