Page 25 of Come Out, Come Out, Wherever You Are

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, then scanned my room as if I expected blood splatter on the walls or a large pool of blood on the floor. I even leaned over the side of the bed to check. Of course there was nothing. It had all been another bad dream.

“You’re losing it, Skyler,” I whispered before reaching into the bedside drawer for my blade. I could feel my sanity slipping from my fingers with every heartbeat. I needed to purge. I needed relief.

Lining the blade up with my newest scar, I sunk it deep into my skin, hissing at the sharp sting. Fuck, I loved this. I loved the euphoria that rose inside me to drown out the screaming darkness and the demons taunting me from the shadows.

A soft, keening whimper danced on my lips as bright red blood rushed to the surface, sliding down my arm to drip onto the bedsheet. I sank my teeth into my plump bottom lip and squeezed my thighs together. I loved how the sharp sting drowned out the voices in my head, the taunts and threats.

You’re not good enough.

You’ll never amount to anything.

No one likes you.

A knock on the door caused my heart to cease beating. “Skyler, are you awake?”

Shit! It was Evelyn. My eyes landed on the clock. I’d overslept, and it was already past eleven in the morning.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I scrambled out of bed, calling out, “Just a minute.”

After dashing into the adjoining bathroom, I washed my arm in the sink, but the blood kept pouring, staining the white sink pink. The wound refused to close and my eyes watered at the sharp, icy sting.

Choking down another whimper, I looked around for a towel or something to apply pressure.

As I turned around, I froze.

Standing in the doorway, Evelyn stared at the bloody mess in the sink and then her wide eyes skated over to me, to my hand on my arm, and the blood pouring from between my fingers.

The sharp blade, pinched between my pointer and middle finger, singed me when she looked at it before her glassy eyes flitted back up to mine. I’d been caught red-handed. I couldn’t lie myself out of this one or try to make up excuses.

“Skyler?” she whispered shakily, and I heard everything she wasn’t saying in the trembling lilt of her voice.

My throat jumped as my fingers slid through the blood on my arm. I reached for a white towel—bad choice, I know—and used it to apply pressure to the fresh cut.

“I didn’t realize it was…” she drifted off, gesturing to my arm.

“This bad?” I asked. “Well, it is.”

She looked at me again, her eyes shining with empathy and disappointment. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“What was I supposed to say?” I asked, shrugging. “I’m a cutter, Evelyn. Have been for a long time now.”

Walking past her, I entered my room, where I took a seat on the edge of the bed. Neither of us spoke, but the silence was far from quiet. It roared with unspoken questions that sought a tongue to vocalize them.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go this weekend.”

There was my way out. I didn’t want to go on this trip to a cottage, but Harper had booked it, and Evelyn had talked about it non-stop for the last few days. I knew she wanted to go. “We’re not canceling.”

Evelyn’s worried eyes burned a hole in the side of my face while I carefully lifted the towel to have a look. The blood had slowed down. A few more minutes, and then I could put the towel aside. “What triggered it?”

I frowned. “What?”

“Mom says it’s important to learn your triggers so you can prevent this.” She waved a hand at my arm and the blood on my sheets.

Closing my eyes briefly, I focused on my breathing and the stinging pain in my arm. “A nightmare triggered it.”

“A nightmare?”

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