Broken: Emily's Story

14

I open my eyes. I'm shaking. Badly. I let go of my desk. I turn around and stare at my hoody. I know what I want to do, but I don't want to chance Drunk-As-Fuck Dad finding me.

What the fuck does that matter? It's not like he even cares anyway.

I stand there staring at my hoody. Finally, I make up my mind and pick up my hoody. I pull my box out and open it. I grab the first thing my hand touches and draw it across my skin. Blood pours from my skin.

Old cuts reopen and I feel the pain swallow me, erasing my memories, erasing the feelings. A cold sensation engulfs me. Cold peace stops the shaking.

I'm sitting on my floor, my head leaning on my desk. I close my eyes and just let the feeling wash over me. I know this is bad. I know it's really bad. But I don't give a shit. I don't fucking care.

I hear a chime above me. Confused, I open my eyes. And then I remember my phone. I go to push off my floor when I see the red dots on my carpet. I look at my shirt and there are red dots on my shirt too. I stare at them, transfixed.

My phone chimes again. I look up. I push off my floor and grab my phone. I open my text chain with Eric.

Hey, Emily, I was thinking, my parents are gonna be out town this weekend and since it was a three-day weekend, we could hang out. Just hang out. You could even spend the night, get away from your dad.

Is that cool?

Emily?

Are you okay?

I immediately feel sick to my stomach. I feel horrible for cutting myself. I had completely forgotten about Eric.

Hey, sorry. Sure, sounds great. I can pretty much hang out whenever. Dad doesn't even give a shit anymore.

Holy shit, Emily! Don't DO that! You were starting to scare me.

Sorry.

Are you okay?

I stare at my phone. There are red fingerprints on my phone. I sigh and go into my bathroom. I wash my hands and arms, fire running up my arms. I wince as I turn off the water and dry my arms off. I leave my bathroom.

I put my tool back in the box and put my box in my hoody. I pull my hoody back over my head and grab my phone.

He had sent ...

I send, Yeah, I'm fine.

Ook. You sure?

Yeah. I'm fine.

I put my phone on my desk and begin packing. I write a quick note to Dad and throw it on the kitchen counter on my way out. I double back to grab my phone.

I don't see his last message until I reach the tree.

Why don't I believe you?