Broken: Emily's Story

15

I spend the night under the tree, the wind whispering music in my ears. The few stars I can see twinkle and wink at me through the boughs of the tree. I fall asleep almost instantaneously.

I wake up to bright sunlight. I don't remember dreaming. Pain shoots up my arms. I wince and get up off the ground. I throw my bag on my shoulder and grab my phone. I turn it on. It's 8:00. Looks like I'm skipping school again.

I trudge my way to the cemetery. I feel the customary calm of the cemetery. I sit in front of her grave. I just sit and stare. Silent tears fall from my face. I tell her about my memory of Mom. About cutting myself again. I'm crying. Just crying. Eventually, I stop talking and I'm sobbing. I want her back.

Why can't you come back? I shout. I want you back. I want you back. I want you back.

Eric finds me like that. He's holding me and I'm sobbing into him. It takes me a long time to realize he came and found me and was holding me. I draw back from him.

He looks worried. Genuinely worried. I look away from him. I feel guilty. I'm sorry, I mumble.

Hey, it's fine, he says softly. No, it's not, I say standing up. He catches my arm. I feel my cuts from last night reopen, new pain washing over me. I cry out.

Startled, he let's go of my arm. I cradle my arm, the pain burning. I can feel blood begin to leak from my cuts. I need to check them. But I can't. Eric's right there.

Emily, are you ok? He asks. I shake my head, back up from him. He stands up, holds out his hand. Let me see, he says. I shake my head. I can't let him see. I don't know why.

He steps toward me. Please, Emily. I need to make sure you're okay, he says. I let him come up to me. His hand is still outstretched. Slowly, I hold out my arm towards him.

I look away from him. He pulls my sleeve back. I wince. I look at my arm. Fresh blood starts to cover the cuts.

Come on, let's get you cleaned up, he says, pain in his voice. He lets go of my arm. I pull my sleeve back down. He puts his hand on my shoulder, gently pushes me forward. He grabs my bag and we leave the cemetery.

We get to his house and he sits me on his bed. He leaves the room to get his first aid kit. I pull my hoody over my head. I look down at my shirt. Fuck, it still has my blood on it. I look at my arm. My arm has practically turned red.

I hear him enter the room. I don't look up. I keep my gaze fixed on my arm. I hear him place the kit on the floor and open it. I hear him sift through the contents. He grabs my arm and begins cleaning it. He bandages it. The gauze is purple. That's strange. I still haven't looked at him. I can't.

I can tell he's sitting there, staring at me. Emily, he finally says. I don't look up.

Emily, look at me, he says. I shake my head. Emily, look at me, he says again. I shake my head again.

Emily, look at me, he says. I close my eyes. I shake my head again. I can feel tears leak from my eyes. He takes my hands in both of his. Emily, please, look at me.