The Dysfunction Of Evan: Books 1-3 Collection

59. Altercation

Frannie set the box in front of me. I knew the box,  it was filled with everything I'd written as a child and teenager. How did she get it? I'd left it in the attic at my condo in Ohio.

"Tom brought this when he came to visit." She said,  answering the question I hadn't spoken. "It's been quite an adventure reading through it.  I especially enjoyed the time period inspired by Aesop's Fables."

I sunk in my chair, embarassed. She smiled and pulled out a folder.

"What I want to discuss, is this. It came right after the Shakespeare but before the Bronte. I thought it was Poe, at first, then I realized the styling was pure Astrid." She set the folder down and opened it up. She pulled out a pile of notebook paper that had been stapled. "'Little Sis'," she read. "I am correct in assuming that this is an account of the first time you cut yourself?"

I nodded, trying to keep my face blank. I had a question burning in my brain. It weighed on my chest.

"Did Tom..." I trailed off.

"Did Tom read these?"she finished for me. I nodded again. "No, I don't think so. You're aunt told him about the box. She found it odd that you'd leave it behind, she told him it was the most important thing you owned. She thought it might be able to help us answer some questions."

"It won't." I said. "Everything I've repressed from my childhood that I wrote down is in my NSYNC diary."

"Where is that?" Frannie asked.

"My dad took it, read it, then handed it off to several people. I asked him once if he knew where it was, but he skirted around and never answered." I said. "After he took it, I stopped keeping any kind of diary. I started writing poetry  instead."

"He couldn't use it against you if everything was a metaphor." Frannie said. I nodded. "Well, why don't we start here for now, and I'll see about contacting your father about the diary."

"Good luck. I'm sure there is plenty of stuff in there he's glad I've forgotten." I snorted.

"If he wants you to get better, I'm sure he'll help us out."

"His idea of me getting better is me forgetting what happened and pretending it never did." I said. "I wish you luck, but he's not going to help. He'll just preach about how he did nothing wrong and how I was a difficult child."

"I have ways of being persuasive." She smiled. She looked back down at the papers in her hand. "Let's talk about this on top.

"What do you want to know?" I asked.

"What do you want to tell?"

I took a deep breath.  I thought back to that day.  I'd had a total meltdown,  not dissimilar to the one that landed me here. 

"It felt good,  when the blade cut my skin.  Then I saw the blood,  just pouring out of me,  and I got scared.  It was coming so fast.  My stepsister had left the house,  we'd been alone.  I didn't know where she was, and I just started screaming her name.  She finally came out of a house across the street,  and when she saw the blood,  rushed me over there." It had been so long since I'd thought about this day,  it surprised me how clear everything was.  "She was friends with the kids that lived there,  and their dad was a firefighter,  I think.  He called for a squad and got me cleaned up."

"Why did you do it?" She asked.

"I was in so much pain,  but I felt so numb.  I'd scratched myself before,  and it helped,  but this time I knew it wouldn't. The pain didn't even feel real.  I just wanted something to validate what I was feeling." I said. My right hand went to the scar on my left wrist. "It had scared me,  because I thought I did it wrong.  I didn't want to die,  I wasn't expecting that much blood.  Once I realized I hadn't hit anything important, I became addicted."