The Assistant // Louis Tomlinson

7 - Damaged

*TRIGGER WARNING*
if anyone needs to talk or help with anything i'm always here :)

Dedicated to one of my best friends in the world who inspired this chapter. Stay strong babe.

Story of My Life

One more cut. Just one more slice across my skin. One more minute of release from the pain, and I will never do it again.

Once I convince myself before I can reconsider my choice once again, I slide the blade across the scarred skin of my wrists.

I hardly even feel the pain anymore. The first few times it stung and bled a lot. By now I have gotten good at it. I knew just how deep to cut to allow only enough pain to take my mind off the hell that lives behind the bathroom walls.

The blood is warm against my cool skin and the contrast of the cold tile floor I am laying on sends a wave of relaxation through me. I tilt my head back against the cool wall, breathing in and reveling in the calm release.

Up until now, I had been doing pretty good. It had been almost a full week since I have cut last. It's my new record.

I sit on the ground for a minute before standing up and grabbing a black towel that I can soak up my blood with without leaving a visible stain.

I rinse my wrist and put my collection of bracelets back on, effectively covering all evidence of the scars and scabs that littered my wrist. I slip on a jacket for extra measure. I check my make-up in the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place. Luckily, I usually don't cry when I cut anymore, so I don't have to worry about someone noticing tear stains or smudged mascara on my face. It takes a lot for me to cry anymore. I have just gone numb to pain. Anyways, there is no point in crying. It shows weakness and doesn't get you anywhere. It doesn't help fix the problem, so why waste my time with something so pointless?

Once I am sure I look presentable, I leave, walking through my bedroom and into the hall. I take a deep breath before putting on a fake smile and walking down the stairs. Once I reach the bottom, it only takes me a second to meet his gaze. I can do this. I can do this again.

His eyes still have their despicable glare in them, regardless of how genuine he tries to make his smile look. I've figured out how to look past the mask he puts on in front of other people a long time ago. I shift to look at my mother smiling at me as I walk closer to him, the same forced smile on my lips. At least he can behave himself in front of her. She has no idea what is behind that mask, and that is the best thing I can ask for in this situation.

He puts his arm around my waist when I get closer. "Hey, babe. Ready to go?"

☆☆☆☆☆

I wake with a jolt. My breathing labored and I can feel the tears streaming down my face. I shoot up in my bed, forgetting I have about a foot of space above me, and hit my head against the ceiling of my bunk. I clutch my head and lay back down carefully. It hurts like a bitch. The tears haven't stopped either. They are still flowing. It is like freaking Niagara coming out of my eyes.

It was a dream. No, it was a nightmare of the worst kind; a memory.

I haven't had one in a few days, luckily, but I guess I wouldn't be able to escape my past for long. It always comes back.

I don't even try to fight the tears as they come. I just lay with my head in my hands and let the salty liquids come down in silent streams, taking pieces of my pain with them and throwing everything I've gone through in my face.