Status: Complete
Cut
Cut ch. 11
I wake in the middle of the night and cannot get back to sleep. I lay in my bed staring at the white ceiling, just thinking. I think about my life. About Mom and Ben. About Rose. About Maura. About me.
It makes me sad to think of all these things and even sadder to think of all this put together.
For the first time since I have been here and Royal Oaks I pull my sweatshirt sleeve back and observe my scars. There are lots of them. More than I remember. Who could of known that these little red lines could cause all this? I pick at them for a moment until Maura quickens her breathing. She is tossing and turning and making painful faces. She is having a bad dream I suppose. About what? About her Mom? About her Dad? About everything?
I quickly pull the sleeve of my sweatshirt down and get up. I walk out into the hallway and to the bathroom. There, I look in the mirror. I am without an es court.
There is a girl staring back at me. But not the same girl I had seen so many times before. No. This time there is a new face.
The rings around my eyes are darker. Almost black. My eyes look as though they will sink into my skull at any moment. I have lost weight. My eyes are bloodshot.
Was it possible to be this much worse than I was when I looked two days ago?
I wash my hands in the sink for no apparent reason. I wash them for a long, long time. Then I walk over to the paper towel holder. There at the bottom of it is a sharp edge so as to rip off the paper towels. An evil thought pops into my head again. The same thought as the first time.
I pull down my sleeve and hold my wrist upside down to the sharp edge. Then, I move my arm back and forth.
After a while, a thin line of red appears.
I take a breath. This feels good.
Then I hear something. Or someone, rather. They seem to be throwing up in the stall nearest me. I freeze for a moment then look down at the feet at the bottom of the stall. Whoever it is is barefoot.
Just then, they stop and hear them fiddling with the lock on the stall.
Jenna comes out but does not see me pull my sleeve down.
She looks fine. She looks proud. Why would someone be proud to be throwing up? Then I remember why Jenna is here. She is bulimic.
She looks up at me with a horrified look on her face.
Jenna: Please don't tell.
It makes me sad to think of all these things and even sadder to think of all this put together.
For the first time since I have been here and Royal Oaks I pull my sweatshirt sleeve back and observe my scars. There are lots of them. More than I remember. Who could of known that these little red lines could cause all this? I pick at them for a moment until Maura quickens her breathing. She is tossing and turning and making painful faces. She is having a bad dream I suppose. About what? About her Mom? About her Dad? About everything?
I quickly pull the sleeve of my sweatshirt down and get up. I walk out into the hallway and to the bathroom. There, I look in the mirror. I am without an es court.
There is a girl staring back at me. But not the same girl I had seen so many times before. No. This time there is a new face.
The rings around my eyes are darker. Almost black. My eyes look as though they will sink into my skull at any moment. I have lost weight. My eyes are bloodshot.
Was it possible to be this much worse than I was when I looked two days ago?
I wash my hands in the sink for no apparent reason. I wash them for a long, long time. Then I walk over to the paper towel holder. There at the bottom of it is a sharp edge so as to rip off the paper towels. An evil thought pops into my head again. The same thought as the first time.
I pull down my sleeve and hold my wrist upside down to the sharp edge. Then, I move my arm back and forth.
After a while, a thin line of red appears.
I take a breath. This feels good.
Then I hear something. Or someone, rather. They seem to be throwing up in the stall nearest me. I freeze for a moment then look down at the feet at the bottom of the stall. Whoever it is is barefoot.
Just then, they stop and hear them fiddling with the lock on the stall.
Jenna comes out but does not see me pull my sleeve down.
She looks fine. She looks proud. Why would someone be proud to be throwing up? Then I remember why Jenna is here. She is bulimic.
She looks up at me with a horrified look on her face.
Jenna: Please don't tell.