Cut

The next day at school I sit in art class at a lone table. This is the way it always is, though. I like having a table to myself. There is nobody to bother me and nobody to see what I am working on.

I love to draw but my art teacher is starting to change my mind. She is always coming over and criticizing my art. She does this to everybody. It annoys me.

At the table next to me sit three junior boys. One is tall and big with a deep, loud voice. He is the leader.

On his right side sits a scrawny boy with brown shaggy hair. On his other side is anther scawny boy much shorter than the first. He has short blonde hair. They are the followers.

The leader speaks.

Leader: And then, I punched him.

I can tell he trying to sound cool. He always talks about beating people up. But the truth is I like hearing Leader's stories. They are interesting even if I am sure they are all lies.

The Followers laugh as Leader does his impressions of different celebrites.

I look back down at my drawing assignment. We are supposed to draw a self portrait. I don't know where to start.

They art teacher, Mrs. Jones, comes over to my lone table.

Mrs. Jones: Emma, you still haven't started?

So what? So what if I've been working on this project for a few....weeks. So what if Leader had already finished this assignment even though he never does anything but talk?

Me:

Mrs. Jones: Emma, is everything alright?

I think about this as I pull my sleve down past my hand.

Is everything alright? I'm fighting with my bestfriend, I have nobody to talk to, my dad lives a zillion miles away and my baby brother won't stop talking about him, and now this? Look what I have resulted in doing! I've cut myself. And what I really don't understand how something can ruin everything and fix it all in at the same time. But cutting does.

I feel my wounds sting.

Me: Yes.

It comes out shaking and at first I think she can tell that I am lying but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she gets up walks away. Imediately after that the bell rings. I pack up my things and go home.

When I finally reach my fortress I call out to nobody.

Me: I'm home!

I say it as though somebody were here. As if somebody cared that I was home.

I set my bag down and walk into the kitchen. I stand in front of the drawer that has the blade in it. My blade. The one thing that frees me.

I know that I shouldn't do this agian, but something inside of me tells me that I need to. It reminds me of all that is going in my life so I take my knife out and cut.

The hairs on my arms, again stand up and my scalp feels funny. I like this feeling.

The phone is ringing and I know exactly who it is. But I am busy.

Just then, the door opens and Mom and Ben walk through the door. They are home early.

I have no time to react.

Mom: Emma! STOP!

Mom has seen.