OCTAVEUS
The rest of the school year went by like that. (Thank God too.) I eventually stopped getting dizzy during PE, and was able to take the bandages off of my chest. By May Day all of my werewolf-inflicted scars were healed and I stopped taking pain killers. On May 6 I turned fourteen. Fun fun. It doesn't feel much different to be honest. Besides being told happy birthday by all of my friends (A.K.A. Drew, Summer, and Micah) and my family several times. Drew had turned sixteen March 10. He probably got the same exact. . . I'm gonna say treatment on his birthday that I did. Well, not the exact same. I didn't repeatedly hug myself on my birthday.
   Anyway, I somehow survived being a Sophomore. Whoopie. And let me tell you, that was the WORST year of my entire life. But that didn't make it all bad.

Over the summer, I tried to see Summer and Micah a lot, but they both had full-time summer jobs and Summer volunteered with some summer camp in her down time so I really didn't see them too much.
   I did see Drew though. He had a part-time job, and only worked in the morning on Mondays and Wednesdays,  so I was over at his house a lot. I'm scared that my parents will start to get suspicious as to why I was always over at this one "friend's" house, but if they were they didn't show it. Besides, I mostly helped him search for colleges he'd want to go to once he graduates. And kissed but no one needs to know that. . .
   I had to quit gymnastics, seeing as I had almost died and couldn't afford to potentially break anything else in me. So I really didn't have anything to do all summer, besides see Drew, since I was still too young to get a job. I slept over at Drew's three times a week, on the nights that I would have had gymnastics. Not because my parents didn't know I didn't go to gymnastics, but because I was used to staying away from home late those nights and didn't want to go back.

⚠️ TRIGGER WARNING AHEAD⚠️

   The only bad thing about the summer was, my depression always gets much worse over school breaks, because of the lack of stuff to occupy my thoughts. Therefore, I always cut more over those times. Spending time with Drew definitely helped, but I am still cutting more than I would normally.
   But talking about it always made it feel a little more bearable. I don't have a therapist; I probably should, but I don't. I talk to my brother and boyfriend about it instead. They are almost the same thing, right? Somebody that listens to you talk about what's going on. Yeah, that counts.
    On a Tuesday about halfway through summer break, I was feeling worse about myself than usual, so I spent the majority of the day in my room. Around nighttime was when I'd gotten my shard of glass to cut; I try to wait until at least my parents and Gwen are asleep before I cut, so they can't hear it.
   I was already tired and miserable out of my mind when I did, so it didn't take too long for me to pass out.

When I woke up I was being held and someone was pressing a towel against my wrists. My wrists were throbbing and still felt wet, so I must've only been out for a few minutes. I half-opened my eyes and squirmed a little to see who was holding me.
   "Stop moving asshat." I heard my brother's voice say softly and I relaxed, opening my eyes more. Jessie was holding a once-white dish towel to my still bleeding wrists and had me in his lap. His eyes were red-rimmed like he'd been crying, or at least rubbing his eyes.
   I lay in his lap and let him staunch the blood flowing smoothly from the cuts on my wrists. "Please stop, Vee," Jessie said quietly after a bit. He didn't need to specify for me to know what he meant.
   "I try to," I muttered. "I can't."
   "Then tell me what I can do to get you to stop," he replied. "It kills me to see you doing this to yourself."
   I didn't say anything else before I fell asleep in his lap.