Descendants: Children Of The Isle

Scars

Carlos
Don't do it. It took you long enough to stop last time don't restart. I try to listen to my conscience which is completely right but the urge to ignore it is so strong. Don't you dare you idiot. You know if you start again now you won't stop. You have nothing to stop for. At least last time you weren't this pathetic. I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood. I'm pathetic and everything keeps building up. I just need a temporary release: I've stopped once so I can stop again. DON'T. It doesn't solve anything. It only makes you feel worse in the longr- I dig the blade into my arm around the elbow just deep enough to draw blood, watching crimson run down my arm onto my rolled up sleeve. The cut itself hurts but everything else numbs. Sweet relief.

Scars cover my arms above and around my elbows. There are more on my thighs. All places no one from school will notice. All places I can ensure I won't cut too deep. I started when I was eleven after...after....it doesnt matter and kept going until I was thirteen. It took six months to stop and now, just over six months later, I'm giving in. I really am pathetic.

The thought sends another wave of pain through me and I dig the blade in again, slightly deeper this time. I do it again, tears streaming down my cheeks. I place the now crimson razor down in the sink, rising the blood from it and washing any drops of blood up. I wince as I dab at some cuts mum did on my collar bone earlier. It'll definitely scar- because of her most of me is littered in scars from her being bored, angry or simply just feeling like it.

I pull on my long sleeved jacket and gloves, hiding bruises and scars from her and put on shorts which reach halfway down my knees, hiding scars from both of us before walking out the door, heading to school.