⚠️ WARNING ⚠️
Self harm-ish scene ahead. I'm not trying to make fun of self harm in any way, and if I've portrayed it incorrectly, please leave a comment or message me to let me know, and I'll take it down or change it. Thank you - MMI grit my teeth as I breathe in. What the fuck? It hurts to breathe, it hurts to move, it hurts to live right now.
I didn't go to school today. Dad accidentally not so accidentally hit my face two nights ago. Again. I couldn't go to school looking like that- the bruising in my face was all the colors of the rainbow, and Dad wouldn't let me out of my room when he saw me last night. Not because he gives a shit about me.He just doesn't want child service knocking on his door.
Missing so much school because you can't man up and go. Now you're failing. And missing practice? You're never going to get faster like that.
Stop being lazy. Get up.
I try to sit up on my bed and practically scream out in protest. I can't get up.
Lazy good for nothing. Get. Up.
I push myself up the rest of the way and wince as the searing pain goes through my chest. I didn't think he had hit hard enough to break anything but-
But nothing. Fucking weak.
Hurt yourself. Do it. Come on. If you already feel sorry for yourself, at least give yourself some really pain.
A small part of me - probably the not crazy part - tells me to not do it. But I can't deal with this anymore. And if it'll make the voice shut up like it usually does, then all the better.
Good. Finally going to admit that I'm right?
I shake my head no, and it makes my head hurt even more.
Relief is on the way if you just do it...
I mentally sigh. Fine. I'll do it.
I turn to my beside table and rummage around in it. Mateo never cleaned it out again since last year. He didn't realize that I could've gotten more. He doesn't realize a lot of things.
Sometimes I wonder how to be so smart, he doesn't connect certain dots. Like the fact the i can always get sharp things somewhere else. Or that Dad hits me. He believed Dad this morning when he said that I was "sleeping in" and "had the flu". I don't know why.
Um, because he doesn't give a shit? Jesus. You're dumber than I thought.
I snap out of my thoughts and focus my attention back on the table drawer. I have to carefully stick my hand all the way in the back to find them.
Box cutter. Exacto knife. Small scissors that i found in the garage. They all came from the garage, in fact. No one ever goes in there though. Therefore, no one knew they went missing.
Which one, which one? So many options for the weak. The small voice whispers in my head.
Why can't it just shut up?
I'll stop if you start.
I take the exacto knife out and uncap it, lifting my shirt up with my other hand. I choose to ignore the dark purple bruises near my rib cage and look for the small, angry lines covering my entire stomach. As soon as I find an empty spot I press the blade in and cut.
I only do three before the front door opens. It doesn't slam, but that doesn't matter. It could either be Mateo or Dad if he's not in a bad mood.
"Shit shit shit," I mumble as I take an old shirt that already has blood stains and press it to the cuts. They're not that deep, so they'll stop bleeding after a few minutes.
Fifteen minutes later I can safely put my shirt down and then a sweatshirt over it. I stuff the T-shirt with blood under my mattress. I'll get to washing it...eventually.
I've come to the conclusion that it was dad who opened the door and then left. Which is so much better than if it was Mateo.
I let out a sigh of relief, wincing again. The cuts sting, which I don't mind, but the bruises hurt like a bitch. I lay carefully back down onto my bed and close my eyes, my own pain and endless thoughts lulling me to sleep.
***
"I'm home!"I sit up quickly in my bed, regretting it right after. I look frantically around my room, making sure I left nothing that would even suggest what i was doing. I hear my brother's footsteps on the stairs and I quickly lay back down with my hoodie on and a pillow over my head. I try my best to make it look like I'm sleeping.
"Julian?" Mateo knocks on the door before opening it. He walks in and stands by the bed. "Are you sleeping?"
I don't answer and hope he leaves the room.
He walks closer and shoves my shoulder to "wake me up" and I have to bite my lip from how bad that hurt right now.
"What do you want?" I mumble from underneath the pillow.
"See how you were doing. How are you doing?"
"I'm sick, I have a headache, and I have a brother who won't let me sleep. How do you think I'm doing Mateo?" I realize how rude I sound, but I really don't want to deal with Mateo right now. Or ever , preferably.
"Hmm...I'd say you're doing pretty good." Mateo says with humor in his voice.
"Please let me sleep."
Mateo sighs dramatically. "Fine. But come downstairs when you're feeling better."
"Will do."
Mateo leaves the room and I lift the pillow off of me, staring at the closed door.
Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I told him. If I just showed him the bruises and what's happening and the cuts and everything. I wonder if he would hug me. Or beat Dad up himself. Or if we would run away. Or if he would just call child services.
But every time I wonder, I always end up with the same conclusion. I don't want to find out.
Whew! Another chapter out and about. This is why Julian wasn't in school in the previous chapter. Also, let me know what you think of this story so far. Thanks for reading! - MM
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Good Enough
Teen FictionGood enough... Is something Julian Ortega will never be. A disappointment, worthless, and useless to those around him, Julian has finally reached his breaking point. He has been falling towards the end for a while. But he might have just found someo...