Warning: Since it's getting to the higher two levels, the next two chapters will be pretty graphic and upsetting and triggering. It's not exactly how everything went down with me, I changed it to fit the plot better.
This isn't me writing my feelings out at the exact moment in time. I wrote this a while ago and need to get it out. Read respectively I guess...

The next day, when Skye had been long gone, I was alone. My dad had disappeared to work and the word "school" came across my mind. I quite obviously skipped yesterday and was already three hours late into today's classes.

Still, I willed myself out of bed and threw on a pair of jeans, a dark t-shirt, and a hat because I failed to do anything with my hair.

People noticed as soon as I stepped into the building that there was something wrong with me. I was a walking case of depression. Dragging my feet in the carpeted halls, I hung my head low and tried to ignore the stares coming in my direction.

None of my friends would look at me the same that day. Jennifer, Mona, Ally, Danielle, Skye, and even Belle stayed away from me. I couldn't bare to talk to them and probably scare them away with my feelings.

I felt awful for letting everyone pity me for reasons they didn't know, but I didn't want to tell anyone. I was stubborn. I didn't want anyone to know that I had a problem, but letting myself handle my problems made everything worse. The real thing I needed and never admitted was help.

The last few hours of school came and passed. I closed my locker and walked down to the boys locker room for football. The entire room went silent as soon as I stepped in. They knew something was really wrong with their front and didn't know how to say anything.

This was how my guy friends were, I thought as I pulled a new shirt over my head and laced up my spikes. They weren't sensitive like me. I expect that's a good thing. They weren't like my girl friends in the way that they didn't relate to me.

I read a stat online that said women are 75% more likely to have what I have, which meant I was pretty rare. They didn't know how to talk to me other than chatting on football or girls or sometimes even bands.

I dragged my sorry ass out on the field and started practice with the guys. It went along fine. I still had an achy feeling in my stomach from being sick and an even stranger one in my gut. It's like I knew what was about to happen before it did.

The small, black car that drove up to the field was one I knew far too well. A man stepped out of it and stormed up to the field, his hands balled up into a fist at his sides.

I suddenly felt too weak to stand and stopped dribbling the ball, letting my teammate steal it away. The man came up to my coach, shouting something I could barely hear. I could see tiny, dark circles start to cloud my vision and held myself before passing out.

The coach reluctantly motioned me over to the sideline and I slowly walked up. Coach looked apologetically at me, like he might know what my dad was like. It got me angry for a minute. He doesn't know, but at least he was trying.

My father grabbed my arm and literally pulled me out of practice. He tossed me into the back seat of the car, grumbling a string of curse words that didn't even make sense.

There were empty bottles of beer and vodka and anything that would make you drunk in the back of his car. I only assumed he was drunk. The car swerved a bit and I latched onto the bottom of the seat for safety. My body slouched, unable to see the windows. I already knew where I was going based on the turns he was taking.

I counted the turns away nervously. The right at the petrol station, the left by the department store, another left into the neighborhood, and then the long, narrow street leading to his house.

He slammed the car into park in the driveway, nearly sending me flying up into the front seat. He shouted at me to come inside and I didn't dare refuse.

I remember looking down that street and thinking: I could do it. I could run down the street right now and run away from him. My moms house was two or three blocks away, and Belle's house was four.

"Come on," he growled as he stormed up the steps to the front porch.

My knees shook as I followed him. I've seen my dad mad, but never like that. I was terrified about what might happen.

As soon as I stepped inside the house, I regretted choosing to stay. He covered my mouth and walked with me up the stairs to my room. I was tossed down onto the wooden floor like a rag doll and hit my head.

Little did I know it wasn't the only pain I would feel, and definitely not the worst.

He screamed and shouted things that didn't make sense to me. His large hands pulled books out of my shelf and chucked them at me. I tried getting up to defend myself, but found the back of his shoe kicking my chest back down.

I was wheezing by then, begging for him to stop and just talk to me. He only took that as a reason to continue.

He pulled his brown belt out from under him. "No," I mumbled repeatedly, accelerating as he grew closer to me. He brought it on me countless times and only stopped to wipe his mouth with his arm.

Finally, after he saw my skin bleeding and tears forming in my eyes, he dropped the belt and stumbled out of the room. I sunk down into the floor and hoped I would die. I never wanted to die more than I did in that moment.

I didn't cry throughout that whole time, not until it was all over. I broke down into tears, understanding what had just happened and why it it happened.

At the time, I didn't think about texting or calling for someone to help me, but now that I look back, I probably wouldn't have been so stupid. Jen knew how to handle me when I was like this. Skye might understand how I feel. I didn't want to bother them or worry them too much.

My body ached and throbbed in pain. I winced as I barely lifted myself up off the floor, leaning against the wall. I remembered a saying as my pain strangely starting numbing.

"Destroy whatever's destroying you" people say, but what if the destroyer is you?

That's when I cut out. I don't remember what I did or how I got there, only that it was bad...really, really bad.

I had subconsciously grabbed a razor from my closet. Someone had bought it for a Halloween costume a long time ago and I found it. I never thought about using it before. It was stupid and selfish to do it. I knew I would regret it later, but that didn't come to my mind in that moment.

***

I came to as a heaving lump on the floor, holding my arms in front of me. It wasnt unusual ay first. It had become a nervous habit of mine to rub my arms. But now, not only were there lashes, now dripping blood steadily down my arms, but there were cuts...deep cuts. I didn't know how they got there until I saw the razor down on the floor under me.

I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs and tensed up as the door opened quickly. It was the one person I didn't want to see me like this. Belle. She knew what happened before anyone told her. I don't know how, but she knew.

I remember the look on her face in the doorframe. I had just hurt her more than I hurt myself and I hated myself to any extent.

Belle covered a hand over her mouth, now crying equally as bad as me. She attempted to choke back sobs that had already been heard. "Oh my god," she kept saying because there was nothing else to say. I had already finished.

I remember looking back down at the blade in my hands.

"Stop!" she kept crying.

I made a choice, my own choice, and dropped it.

Once again, I couldn't remember anything after that. I fell into another subconscious movement period. She told me later that month that I was acting strange, blubbering out excuses as to why I did it. Belle sat me on my bed and bandaged up my arms to try to stop the bleeding.

I woke up in the middle of the night in Belle's arms. Usually, it was the other way around. I remembered what happened and felt more tears form in my eyes. Quickly, I blinked them away and stayed quiet.

What I had just done that night would stay with me for the rest of my life. It wasn't the last time I would feel this. Those scars dug deep into my wrist would be displayed on my arm forever. I would have to hide in hoodies all day, and I did. Even when it was 30 degrees outside, I hid my arms from the world, still unable to admit I had a problem after all of that.

I remembered how I felt that day, like I was trapped in a cage and slowly being mauled to death by a lion. It's sharp claws digging in deep, but that wasn't the worst of it all. It was what she said and the look on her face that burned into my brain.

It was her that made me stop.

Level Nine: Razor bad...