I walked away, and fast. The blood was smearing all over my torso again and this time I was really annoyed. I had just ended yet another fight between my friend Natalie and I. This was probably the seventh fight this week. I wanted nothing to do with these fights, but just like a c***roach, she keeps on coming back for more. I entered the bathroom and slammed the stall closed and grabbed some toilet paper. This cut wouldn’t stop bleeding. Unlike the others, this one looked more like a gash and bled around instead of down. I held the toilet paper against my skin for about a good five minutes until it finally decided it was done. When these wounds first started they hurt like nothing I have ever experienced before, but now they aren’t as bad since I’ve gotten used to them.

On my way out of the school I noticed that my ride home had left me. So I had to walk home in the freezing snow with an open wound and a twenty pound backpack. Nice. As I walked home I tried to remember why Nat was mad at me, but the same conversation just repeats in my head like a broken record. We were at lunch earlier today and she stood in front of me waiting for me to say something to her.

“B, I’m waiting for you to tell me two words. Two very important words,” Nat said annoyingly with her arms crossed.

“Go away?” I muttered.

I don’t like to fight with my friends. I just wish they were a bit smarter and would take the hint when I give it to them. I am an easily annoyed person, so I tend to go off on people when they make me repeat myself or don’t listen. You would think I would learn not to keep fighting with my friends considering what happens to me every time they walk away upset. The wounds reopen or appear in new places. Never have I ever thought that something so weird would happen to me, but it did. About a year and a half ago I had a really bad disagreement with my old friend that totally destroyed our friendship. As I was screaming into my pillow in my room there appeared a cut on my back.

I thought it must have gotten there when I was flipping out, but there wasn’t any blood on the things in my room to prove I fell or sliced myself on something. That first cut bled, and bled, and bled. I didn’t know what to do and I couldn’t ask my parents for help because they cared more about themselves than they ever did me. My father is an insane alcoholic and my mother is a selfish woman whose ego is bigger than her IQ. Ever since that first fight I learned the hard way what was going to happen to me every time someone walked away upset with me. A cut or gash appears and leaves an ugly scar as a reminder of my disagreement, and it is no self infliction. 

When the gashes were noticeable at school I would tell people I had a rare disease known as Beled Thoreau Disease. Anyway, when I got home I cleaned my glasses and pushed my wavy hair back behind my ear so I see where I needed to clean and wrap the cut. The wet cloth stung me as I rubbed it against the wound attempting to clean it. A wound on the torso is always so sensitive, but I think that’s normal. As I was cleaning out the cut I began to think about the time Emma, my “best friend”, asked me about the consistent cuts on my body.

“Brooke, this isn’t a joke. Those cuts are really bad. If you are cutting I swear I’ll kill you. No one just develops cuts like you without good reasoning,” Em concerningly said.

All I could really do was stutter. I mean, what is a person supposed to say to that? My superpower is making myself bleed? What a terrible power that is. She sort of lost interest about my cuts because she started focusing on a boy she liked. The boy liked her back and so she started seeing him in the morning, and then after class, and then all day. Emma kind of left me in the dust, but me being me just let her go in fear that if I said something she would get upset and think I was annoying.

Everyday Emma and I would be attached to the hip before and after school since those were the only times we could see each other. Of course we had no classes together. Now I’m lucky if she even looks at me. She said to me not long after she started holding hands with this kid that she would not be that friend who leaves everyone for her boyfriend if that’s what they would become. Well what happened? Best friends are supposed to be more important because they are who you have always gone to and have most likely known longer than the boyfriend. Couples come and go, but best friends are forever, but I guess that doesn’t apply for me. I would take a bullet for her, but now I don’t think she would even be there to attempt to do the same.

The cut on my torso didn’t even hurt as much as the thought of my old best friend. For the rest of the day I did nothing but homework. Before I fell asleep I wondered, why can’t everyone else get cuts when they upset me? Do my feelings not matter or are everyone else’s more important than mine? I often wonder about this at night. So many shirts I have ruined and I can’t replace them because there is no money. We usually can’t even afford to buy one little thing for dinner at the store. Most nights I go without dinner, and I don’t even mind because I’m in enough pain from the forming scars that my hunger just becomes a forgotten thought.

I wake up to the sound of my parents screaming. Who needs an alarm when you have parents? Within an hour I am out the door and at school. Friday. Should be a good day since I have photography club after school. I go to my locker and Nat comes over screaming weird noises in my ear like she usually does. Chris is to my right and behind him are my other three guy friends Hayden, Luke, and  Zach. They are yelling at each other like they normally do about the new Star Wars movie and a video game they were playing.

“Ok Luke and who owns Scandinavia? Me, so stop talking before I steal Japan from you!” Zach and the guys have in their heads this own little weird game where they own countries. I guess it’s because they are so obsessed with history and power that they pretend to own countries. I never really understood it, but I never really got an exact answer either.

“Would you guys stop talking about that? Why can’t we talk about something normal for once,” I asked.

“Do we look normal to you?” Luke asked.

I laughed and then turned around and continued putting books in my locker when Natalie said, “Oh what are you gonna do huh Brooke? Judge them just because they aren’t normal? You shouldn’t judge people based on their flaws and personality you know.” Don’t engage. Just ignore her you don’t have classes with her so you won’t see her after this. Nat is great at pushing my buttons and I wasn’t going to let her make me bleed again today. This is supposed to be my good Friday. I walked away rolling my eyes and the guys followed as we approach the stairs where Emma’s locker is. We are about to go up the stairs when I am flung against the lockers and being held tightly by my collar.

Surprise surprise. It was Natalie. Not only was she choking me, but she pushed me so hard that the side of my face hit the lock on a locker and was bleeding. “You’re just gonna walk away like that? I asked you a question and you never answer me so tell me!” My guy friends wanted to help me, but they are all scared of Nat because she is very aggressive, so they kept their distance and went to get help. Some friends they are, am I right? I looked Nat right in the eyes and could see tears forming. Oh no. Not now. The whole school is watching now. She didn’t want to do this, and I didn’t either, but she kept her grip. The tears were now flowing from her eyes as she stuttered while asking me questions.

“W-why won’t you a-a-answer me-e?” Her voice was breaking.

I could feel my skin opening up a little below my heart and right by the left side of my ribs. I was in extreme pain. This never hurt as much as it does now. Was this guilt and pain combined? Or was this bleeding excessive? Either one it was I screamed out in pain and let out some tears as well. Just when I thought I would die, Emma ran up and grabbed Nat’s hands that were choking me and pulled her away from me. I fell to the ground clinging on to my bleeding side still groaning in pain. Emma sat next to me seeing all of the blood staining my shirt and she used her jacket to control the bleeding.

“Oh my god Brooke ok calm down we are getting help. I’m right here don’t worry you’re gonna be ok! Just don’t move too much,” She whispered as her voice began to crack too.

She was there, she assured me, but where was she these past few weeks? All the sudden I’m on the floor bleeding and she shows up acting like she was here all along for me. I shouldn’t of felt so safe, but I did. I let her assure me anyway because I always felt safe when she was with me. Breathing heavily I kept looking up at Emma who was now crying and holding me still. Everything was going blurry and everything suddenly slowed down. Is this what it feels like to be dying? It’s as brutal as they say, that’s for sure. I could see everything as slow as a snail could move. The only thing I couldn’t see was Nat. Even though she tried to physically fight me, I still wanted to know if she was ok.

I saw the other kids with their mouths wide open and some looking away. Others looked as amused as they would be while watching a movie. Others were recording it. Emma’s vibrant blue eyes focused on mine. Everything began to turn black and the last thing I saw was the nurse and a bunch of teachers running over. Now it was completely dark and silent. When I woke up I was in a hospital and no parents were to be found. I was alone. As usual. So there I sat wondering about what would happen to my reputation and if the truth was exploited that my superpower was to slowly start killing myself. None of it made sense, and what doesn’t make sense scientists want to figure out and I don’t want to become someone’s test subject.

I don’t think I’m ever going to tell my friends what happens to me every time we fight because it’s much more worse than what actually happens to people when they fight. I can’t let them know I bleed out and house these ugly scars after every fight. They would never want to fight with me and work things out again in fear that I might die, but in the end, doesn’t everyone feel that way regardless? I guess I’ll never know since I’m the one actually dying. In the end, the truth hurts and guilt scars. However, the thing that kills is realization