joemqi

I sat in bed that night, enveloped in such a horrid sense of guilt that I couldn't shove aside easily. It built up inside me until all my senses could feel were guilt. Stupid, disgusting guilt. I did not get a sense of pride. I did not feel dignified. I just felt horrible. I felt like the world was against me, like this huge weight had just been put on my shoulders instead of being taken off. I was feeling the exact opposite of what I wanted to be feeling. Only now did I realize that doing all that was not only wrong, but stupid. I had hurt him, and I could recall the way his brown eyes glossed up and were glazed in such a pained, sorrowful color that, even now as I think about it, chilled my bones. I let out more than a few tears, the water leaving my face damp and my make up smeared. My lip trembled as I wrapped my arms around myself, hoping I could find comfort.

But no,-the comfort the never came. It seemed to be distant and unreachable. I didn't know how to comfort myself anymore. But I needed it so desperately, and worst had come to worst. This pain was eating away at my sanity. I needed an escape.

I headed to the bathroom and locked the door behind me, my fingers trembling as I turned the lock. My heart lurched, afraid, and it sped back up to that irregular pace. My skin grew paler than usual.

I looked at the silver blade that had been the dictator of my life back then. I had never thought of using it again, but today, I didn't know what to do. My hand was so unsteady, so shaky that at first I was afraid to even begin, but I gathered all the composure left in me and sat still against the wall.

I rolled up my sweater's sleeve and revealed the arm with the fading scars. I hated those vile things, and by doing this I would only create more to hate, but something-something unfathomable-was eating away at me, telling me it was okay to release my pain, telling me this was the only way. Was I going mad?

I dug the blade into my wrist quickly before my thoughts could get worse. And there, just as the blood hang began drip, drip, dripping down my arm, I felt the release.

The sweet release.

It was enough to make me feel the bottled up pain fall out of my system. It was deep enough to make the scream I was holding in seep out, deep enough to make the hurt leave me.

I closed my eyes and rested my head back against the wall, sighing. A stray tear ran down my cheek and I wiped it off with my clean hand. One cut would be enough for today. The cutting wasn't foreign to me, I knew what it felt like, but I didn't know it would make me feel this good. This comforted. A knife could do that?

I washed my arm under the sink and cleaned the cut, rolling down my sleeve and settling back onto my bed, now content. I was so stupid, so lost, so dead, and now-I didn't feel that way anymore. I felt...at peace. My eyelids fell down and I drifted into sleep.

The following morning, I only craved for more escape. I skipped my breakfast and locked myself in the bathroom, hoping to make this quick before my mom came in to question anything. I sliced my wrist with enough depth to make me feel a little better, and wiped the blade and slid it into my bathroom drawer. Once again, I repeated the acts of the night before, washing the cut carefully this time and layering two sweaters over it. I couldn't believe myself. Was I really doing this?

But still-it felt great. I was so...at peace...after that. And peace was all I really asked for now.

Throughout the week, I had been withdrawing myself from friends, and soon just simply leaving school during all the free time we had to go back home, eat lunch alone, and come back to sulk and never participate in anything I wasn't obliged to participate in. My attitude became dry, showing no signs of happiness anymore, and I acted as if someone close to me had died. Most would say that there was no use in sulking, it was only a break up, but to me...this was a huge deal. A giant deal that led me back to cutting and depression.

Farro. He was ruining my life from day one.

Yes, friends did come in to consult me, asking questions that I heard far too many times, "What's wrong with you?" or "Why are you so sad?"

Apparently high school did not understand that sometimes, they just had to let a person grieve alone. The constant questions and attempts at comfort did not help at all, and I just wanted to shove them all away in the rudest way possible. I hated them. I hated people. I wanted to leave, to ditch, to stop. No one was there to help me anymore, and I couldn't even talk to my mom anymore. I was turning into someone I knew I would never become. This was worse than Mississippi. This was worse than what my father had been driving me to.

I do remember one conversation with Jack, one that was held on my front porch steps. I had no trouble talking to him and letting it all out, for that I had done a lot of times already.

"You've been looking like hell," was the first thing he said, after following me back home during lunch. We took our seats on my front porch steps and I stared out into the blank road.

"Talk to me, Hayley. I hate seeing you like this."

I brought my arms up and hugged myself, feeling the cold wind brush against my skin. It was strange, speaking, after I hadn't spoken in days.

"It's Josh. Stupid Josh and Valerie, and Cara, and Nicole. My friends...who...aren't really friends anymore, Jack. If I told you the entire story you'd probably think it was all an insane exaggeration."

"I'm open, and I'm here right now, aren't I? So why don't you just...let it out? Tell me."

I blinked at him twice, finding his eyes and seeing the extreme care in them. He really did want to know, and not just for gossip. Jack genuinely cared. I needed that now.

And so I told him everything, from day one and onward, and the story had dragged on longer than I thought possible, for when I glanced down at my watch lunch was already over and sixth period had started. We were going to be late for sure.

But I did finish it, and Jack only looked back at me with a strange stare, one uncomprehendable and showed mixed emotions. I didn't even realize I was crying, until now, that is. My face was damp from lonely tears that didn't have my permission to slide down my cheeks. Jack looked like he was trying to smile, but it only came out as an awkward, lopsided one. He used the back of his hand to wipe a tear from my face and cupped one side of my cheek with his hand. "Hayley," he breathed, sounding as sad as I had been these past days. "That was...a lot. I can't believe you actually followed through with it!"

I tried to laugh at his remark but the chuckle never came out.

"I think you and Josh deserve each other, those girls had just been in your way. You let them get in the way of something special. And if you only let Josh explain, instead of making that scene in the cafeteria, then maybe things would have worked out. Now look at you, Hayles. Lonely. Depressed. I hate seeing you like this."

I found myself smiling just the slightest bit, liking how comforting it was feeling his hand against my cheek.

"And if things don't work out between you and Josh...I'm still here," he added with a chuckle. I giggled and punched his arm lightly. But then I just snuggled into his chest. "Thanks, Jack. I owe you one."

Updated, because I was feeling inspired. :) I really appreciated all the wonderful, supportive comments on the previous chapter. You guys have no idea how good you made me feel. I love you guys so much. And I appreciate all the support for this story. I really, truly do. Thank you for all the love. Thank you for everything. I'm glad I finally got all this out. Hope you all still stick around. (Okay...that whole message kind of sounded like a song. Haha.)