AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No, they don’t. They barely tolerate you. Why do you think they hire people to take care of you? It’s so they don’t have to.
Shut up.
They regret ever adopting you. You’ve been nothing but a disappointment since the very beginning.
Stop it!
But she’s right. I know she is. And the pressure inside me builds and builds until I feel like I’m about to explode. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Everything’s crashing down around me, and I’m suffocating. I struggle to catch my breath. It’s just like when that hideous man choked me.
He should have killed you.
Maybe you’re right.
You know I’m right.
As I continue pacing, my skin starts prickling as if an army of ants is crawling over every inch of my body.
You’ll feel better if you cut yourself.
No.
You’ll feel better.
Stop it.
Get the knife.
No.
I have one of André’s paring knives hidden in my closet. I snuck it out of the kitchen a few months ago when no one was watching. It’s so well hidden that no one has ever found it, even though I suspect Margaret searches my room from time to time, especially if something sharp goes missing. I think my mom does, too.
Go on. Get it.
I walk into my closet, switch on the light, and close the door behind me. This is my private space, where no one can see me.
I always see you. You can’t hide from me.
I take a pink floral cardboard box down from the top shelf that contains essays I wrote in high school. Nestled amongst the papers, wrapped in a white linen napkin, is a sharp, shiny knife.
I sit on the floor with the box on my lap and stare at the knife. Then I push up my sleeves to uncover arms that are mottled with splotches of fading purple, green, and yellow. These bruises are easy to conceal beneath my clothing, but the bruising on my face and throat is much harder to hide. Make-up can only cover so much. Even if I wait a week longer to return to school, my classmates are still going to see them.
Cut the bruises out so no one will see them.
She makes it sound so easy.
Itiseasy. Just do it. Don’t be a coward.
I pick up the knife and feel its weight in my hand. For such a small knife, it’s surprisingly heavy. And I know from experience that it’s incredibly sharp. Hardly any pressure is needed to slice through skin.
As I stare at the knife, I’m flooded with guilt. If I cut myself, my parents will be brokenhearted. So will Ian. I promised them all I would never cut myself again. Even now, parts of my body are marked with faint scars from previous cuts. They’ve faded to white, but they’re constant reminders of what I’ve done to myself.
My throat tightens as hot tears slide down my cheeks.
She’s right.
I am a failure.
Chapter 11
