Page 133 of Encounter

There it is. His real self. How hereallyfeels about me.Figuring he was done, I turned around and rushed up the stairs, stumbling. I heard Dad mouth something, but he didn’t follow.

Naturally, I retreated into the bathroom—the place I always ended up when the world was too much. The ache radiating out of my heart nearly paralyzed me. I collapsed on the floor next to the bath, hyperventilating and whimpering like a pathetic mess.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

Why did Chast leave? Why didn’t he fight for me?! After those tender touches, the way we made love, our sweet kisses... I thought I finally found my rock, the only stable light in the dark, but he crumbled away like I meant nothing to him.

Pressing my open fist against my chest, I tried to catch my breath but kept failing. Even the room spun around me, and my heart felt like it was going to give out.

Life was finally getting better... but now, I was shown it was never going to last. The only moments of happiness I was ever going to have were always doomed to be destroyed, reaping tenfold of pain afterward. Again and again and again, I was beaten down, pushed to the ground.

I couldn’t handle it anymore.What do I do? I don’t know what to do...

I rocked on the cold tile floor, desperate for someone, anyone, to help me. All I wanted was for someone to reach in. For someone to pull me out before I drowned, but I was alone. I was always alone. Ever since Mom left.

Chast’s face appeared in my mind, emotionless and distant.It cut through me like a knife. Still, I recalled it over and over again. No matter how damn painful it was, I couldn’t remember anything before that. All the love and care I experienced... it was blocked behind a wall, stretching miles above me. Unreachable.

Something heavy settled in my stomach the moment my eyes passed the trashcan next to the door. Everything slowed down, honed in on that object, before I even truly realized why.

Crawling to it—too weak to stand—I overturned it. The familiar box fell out, surrounded by plasters, tissues, and other crap.

There is no other way, is there?

As I reached for it, my body fought against me. Part of it wanted to be relieved, but the other forced my hand away like I was holding it over a flame. I leaned against the wall, letting out a long, strained breath. Sniffling, I took out a razor and hovered it over my thighs.

There was no relief in sight, the more I thought about it. Unlike all the other times, when justthinkingabout the razor parting my skin made me better, I only felt more pain now. It escalated and overtook every part of me like a crescendo, and there was no re-writing those notes.

The longer I held the razor in my trembling hand, the stronger were the painful echoes of what happened. Dad’s shouts, his terrifying glare. Chast’s back as he left, withdrawing all of the love he gave me. I couldn’t take any more of that hurt.

I’d rather destroy myself than keep living with this burden.

Instead of my thigh, I turned my intent to my wrists. It always terrified me—the visibility and undeniability of it. It was what people did when they weren’t cowards. When they really wanted to make a mark. Or once they made their final decision.

Pressing the sharp edge into my skin, I shuddered with fear and paused. Was this what Mom felt before she put the noose around her neck? This overwhelming, undeniable need, eating away until we subjected to it? Was I going to see her, or was there nothing but darkness waiting for me?

Whatever. Anything is better than this; than being alone.

Closing my eyes, I pushed in and dragged the razor vertically toward my elbow. Yelping, my head spun from the pain—more dull and powerful than I could’ve imagined. Exhausted huffs escaping my lips as I stared at my skin, parting to reveal the flesh inside.

There wasn’t enough blood. Only excruciating pain.

I went back to my wrist and tried to slice through the wound again, but the moment I put the blade in, I was close to throwing up.

God. I can’t even kill myself.

I held my breath for a moment and swapped hands. The pull I felt seconds ago began to dissipate, but I couldn’t go back, so I forced myself to continue, trying to carve a wound deep enough in my left arm. The pain made my ears ring, intensified by the fact my other hand made it impossible to create enough pressure as the sensation in it changed into strange tingling.

The razor slipped out of my fingers—they stung and buzzed, but turned numb at the same time. Staring at them with my mouth half open, I struggled to move, to think. Even though the blood pooled in the trenches I made, there was no relief, no quick release. My heart pulsed through the wounds.

I wanted it to stop. I... I wanted to take it all back.

“Galen!” Dad banged on the locked bathroom door, making me twitch.

Oh no. No, he can’t see me like this.I stared at the mess I made of my arms—bloody and deformed. Disgusting. Horrible.What have I done?My entire body screamed for survival.

“Galen!”

As the blood dripped down my arms, it dawned on me that I might actually die. Choked up, I wanted to get up and unlock the door, but I felt faint, and my limbs burned with such vengeance I couldn’t bring myself to move them.

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