Another World | ✔️

Chapter Eleven

Trigger Warnings
Therapy
Anxiety
Medication
Self-Harm
Blood

** This chapter will show a detailed scene of self-harm. If you are not comfortable with the description of this, please skip this chapter! **

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I sigh softly as I sit in the cold waiting room. No matter how many times I come here, I will always have that extra sense of anxiety as I sit by the fish tank, waiting to be called back to the room. I feel a buzz from my phone and start to pull it out to check when I hear my name.

Closing my eyes, I stand up and make way down the hall to the familiar blue-gray room. Dr. Sherman is, of course, there to greet me. I don't say much, just give him my letters when he asks for them. He reads over each, nodding a bit. I'm glad that he doesn't read them aloud. I'm not quite sure that I want to hear them. They're not always so bright.

"I see you've made a friend," he says, nodding to the name on my cast. I smile briefly and look down. Tomorrow is Friday, the day that we were planning to hand out at my place. I haven't  mentioned it to Mom yet, that will happen tonight, but I'm sure she won't mind. She'll probably be enthusiastic but upset that she won't be home for a majority of the visit.

"Yeah," I reply.

"So," he continues. "How has school been?"

"It's. . . Not bad," I say. It's true, it hasn't been bad. Hard, maybe? Rough? I don't know. Difficult. But not because of anything specific. Just the fact that school in general makes me anxious. I guess that's just part of life, but it's not easy. Senior year is stressful. It's nerve-wracking. It's not surprising that I've went through more of my medicine than usual this week.

Still, it's calming. Having a friend. I keep thinking about the anxiety attack I had at his house and how he helped me calm down. It was nice. It was really nice. The only people who have ever talked me out of them before are Mom and Dr. Sherman.

We talk a bit longer. Well, he does most of the talking. I nod or shake my head, answer "yes" or "no" occasionally. Before long, the hour is over and I couldn't be happier. Dr. Sherman is nice and all, but I'm always glad when our sessions are over.

As I'm waiting at the bus stop, I finally check my phone. I'm a bit surprised by the text that I find on my screen.

Can you come over?
It's fine if not.

That was from Connor. It worries me a bit. I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about it. Why did he want me to come over? What if something was wrong?

I'm sorry, I was out.
I'll come over now.

Several minutes pass and he never responds. Never reads it. As time keeps passing, I grow more and more worried. What if I've messed up? What if I've ruined what little bit of a friendship we had? What if I'm a horrible friend for not replying right away.

It seems like forever before I see the bus stop that is closest to the Murphys' house. I'm shaking a bit as I step off and walk towards their home, silently hoping that I'm just overreacting and nothing is wrong.

I take a shaky breath and knock on the door, smiling as I see Cynthia. "Oh, hello, Evan."

"Hey. Connor asked if I could come over. Is that okay?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. I don't want her to recognize my anxiety.

"Of course, Dear. He's upstairs in his room. Would you like anything to drink before you go up there?"

"No thank you," I say with a nod, walking by as Cynthia moves to the side to let me in. As she acknowledges my response I quickly head upstairs, locating the room that I knew was Connor's. The door is shut, so I knock lightly. There's no reply, so I knock again.

"I'm not hungry, Mom. . ."

"Connor? It's Evan?"

There's a click and the door opens slightly. I hear footsteps as I pull it open and shut it back behind me. As I turn around and look, I stop. Connor is sitting on the hardwood floor, blood dripping down from his arms. He looks defeated, his eyes glassy and his face pale. I blink, hoping the sight will go away.

This is why he wanted me here. He wanted me to stop him and I'm too late.

"N-no. . ."

"Not the first time. Don't worry."

"Don't worry? Connor, you're bleeding like crazy. Y-you have to stop."

He sighs and opens a clenched fist. I see the shiny piece of metal and carefully pick it up, placing it on a shelf before sitting down in front of him. Still shaking, I carefully grab his hands and look at the cuts. He closes his eyes, not saying a word.

"I'm sorry. . . I. . . I should've came sooner. . ."

"It's not your fault," he grunted, wincing as I grab a bleeding wound to try to get it to stop. "I'm sorry I asked you to come. You shouldn't have to see me like this."

I shake my head, unsure what to say. My hands are red now, still trembling terribly. Still yet, I can feel him shaking. I'm not completely sure if it's from losing blood or from the feelings he must be having, but it's a terrible shake.

"Where's your bandaids?" I ask quietly. "Let's clean you up."

He sighs shakily and nods towards his closet. I get up and open it, seeing a first aid kit and box of Kleenexes. Without a word, I pick it up and bring it over. I open the kit first, pulling out a small pack of wipes. "It may burn a bit," I murmur, pulling one out and carefully wiping the blood from his arms.

"It can't be any worse," he says quietly, tears running down his cheeks.

My heart is aching now as I put several bandaids on his wounds. As I finish, I look up and see him pull his hands towards his face, covering his eyes. The blood on his hands is dry now, and few marks are left as he removes them and looks me in the eyes. "It hurts. . ."