Page 53 of Chase
I couldn't stop my sobs and instinctively kept looking over at my bedroom door thinking she was about to barge in here. I had to keep reminding myself that she was back home in Georgia. I didn’t hear from her or Daddy last night. They knew I had my performance, but my singing’s never been worthy of their praise or well wishes.
If I could cancel today, I would. I only have one class and some junior editor hours to fulfill at the HH, but otherwise, I plan on making my time on campus scarce.
I need a shower and something to eat. I check my phone and the slew of text messages from last night is too much for me to handle. I tap on Evie’s name and read her text from ten minutes ago about grabbing breakfast and coffee at The Bean. Before I can properly respond, she’s knocking on my door.
“You awake in there?” Evie shouts and I drop my phone on my chest which hurts, but not as much as my heart does.
“I’m up, I’m up, give me a second,” I sit up and swing my legs over my bed. Before I reach my closet, I open up my bedroom door and let her in.
“Morning, Bestie,” she says with a tight smile that looks forced as she tries to hide her concern. She takes a seat at my desk and I look over as she places something in the same spot the blood-splattered program pieces were last night. I’mthanking my lucky stars that I remembered to get rid of that pile of paper.
“Morning,” I grumble back while securing the knot on my robe. She doesn’t respond and I’m grateful she didn’t follow up by asking how I am. I’m too tender to talk right now. The great thing about Evie and I is we don’t have to fill every waking moment with chatter. We’re both perfectly comfortable with silence.
She’s plugging in my hair straightener and already sectioning off her hair when I walk out of my room to the bathroom. The boys may have left earlier for their workouts but I still run down the hall.
I turn on the shower and turn the lever all the way to the left. If cutting is like pressing restart and regaining control, lava-like showers are like a total system upgrade. I need it at a burn-my-skin level hot and pull off my green dress while I wait.
I try to imagine I’m stripping away every feeling I’ve ever had for that man. If only it were that easy. It’s not, my heart squeezes just thinking about him, reminding me that he’s stuck in there.
I step into the steaming shower and roll my shoulders back when the scalding water runs over my fresh cuts, old scars, and fading marks. They’re like battle wounds of the wars I’ve fought against myself. I don’t need tattoos to tell my story, my skin may be bare but it’s full of markings from my past.
I lather up my loofa and swipe it over my limbs, attempting to scrub away all the shame. My thigh’s sore from where I cut into it yesterday and the marred flesh looks angry.I may have gone a little too deep with this one.The incision is raised, red, and raw. My body wash stings over my fileted skin and I hiss in a breath.
I made sure to grab my long robe to hide my wounds from Evie. She’ll keep doing her hair when I walk in to change butI don’t want to risk her seeing anything. This is our normal morning routine and I need the consistency as much as I need to keep the ugly parts of me hidden.
She’s got parts of her hair clipped up and has left that one pesky section in the back of her head for me to tackle. She digs through my makeup bag while asking to borrow my concealer and my heart jumps into my throat.She’s gonna find it.I threw my makeup bag on my desk last night and didn’t for a second consider throwing out the razor I stuffed in there.I’m so stupid, Mama really did raise a fool.
I’m already panicking when I cross the room to yank the bag outta her hands when she gingerly holds up the tissue with the bloody blade. The rapid rush of acid in my belly burns up my throat while coating my desert-like mouth, and I can’t help but dry heave. My eyes water around the sight of my best friend holding up my weapon of choice.
Her soulful, warm, eyes look owl-like behind her signature black glasses, and there’s no way I can lie to her when she’s looking at me like that. She’s trying so hard to be strong and steady for me.
“Why is this here?” There isn’t any judgment or scolding, and the lack of bite in her question makes me want to tell her everything.
“It’s… I…I sometimes use it to…” The truth is stuck in my throat and I have to swallow around every attempt to say the words out loud.
Even though Davis knows what I do, I’ve never formally said that I’m a cutter. Another label of disappointment to add after my name.Sloane Higgins; an unlovable loser and shameful self-mutilater.
“It’s okay, take your time, I’m right here,” she says to soothe me while placing the razor next to a pretty paper crane on my desk. I’m not sure what to look at first. The tiny blade or the littlefolded bird.Where did she get that?I didn’t really pay too much attention when she put it down before but now I’m curious.
She motions for me to take a seat on top of my bed but I walk right over to my desk where she’s sitting and scoop up the origami. It’s so delicate yet sturdy. I hold it up to my face and inspect the paper it’s folded with. I see words I recognize. I see my name.Is this from the show’s program?
“He made it for you,” she says and I nearly drop it. “He came to see you last night,” she adds, and this time I do drop it when my hands immediately reach for my feather necklace. This push-and-pull game we’re playing is too much.Why would he do that?
She bends down to pick up the paper crane and holds it in her hand. She keeps it tucked in her hand, and her chin points to the other questionable item on my desk.
This time I do take a seat on my bed. My emotions are kicking up again and gaining hurricane-like speed but Evie’s always been a safe place for me to land. She’s my best friend, the sister I always wanted, and my roommate. I know she’ll still be those things after I tell her.
“I…I’m a–,” I take a deep breath and try again. She reaches for me and my cut middle finger burns as she holds my hand tight.
“Sloane, what do you do with that razorblade?” She asks, giving me a chance to get my words out in a different way.
“I cut myself,” I squeeze her hand, intensifying the burn, and spit the words out that taste like sour milk on my tongue.
To her credit, Evie doesn’t suck in a harsh breath, doesn’t wince, and doesn’t furrow her brow at me.
“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” The dam holding everything in gives way and another part of me breaks. She wraps me up in a hug and rocks me in her arms. The back-and-forth motion of her embrace is so comforting it has me crying like a baby.
“I think I need some help,” I whisper so quietly I almost don’t hear myself say the words.
