Open Wounds

I sat there in the darkness of my room, my music blaring. It'd been another night, another long night. It had been full of yelling, and words being said that hadn't been processed clearly through his mind. He'd blamed me for things that I'd had nothing to do with; things that had happened before I'd even met him.

I was the reason his dog died.

I was the reason he was fighting with his brother.

I was the reason his girlfriend broke up with him.

Why did I put up with his shit? Why didn't I try to stop it? He'd apologize in the morning, and it'd happen all over again. I knew it would. It was set in stone that it would. It had been happening for the past five years.

I was not the reason for his problems. He was the reason for mine. When I'd sit up in my room all day, which only gave him more reasons to yell at me, it was his fault. When I'd cry myself to sleep every night, it was his fault. When I forgot to call my mom back, that too was his fault. It was his fault when I'd wake up in the morning, walk past his open bedroom door, see him passed out on his bed, and forgive him for everything he'd done the night before. His beautiful, peaceful, baby's face would wash away the anger.

Then, he'd get home from whatever the hell it was he'd been doing that night, and he'd yell at me some more. And all I ever wanted to do was die. Because sometimes, I believed him. I believed that it was all my fault. Shannon was mad at Jared because I was always with him, and wouldn't allow him to spend time with his brother. His girlfriend had broken up with him because of that very same reason. I was ruining Jared's life.

And after he'd leave my room in a heated stride, I'd walk to my bathroom and do the same thing as the night before. The razor was right there. It was a temptress in the dark. Beckoning me. It said, I'll help you. You'll never hurt Jared again. But it was a liar. I always hurt Jared again.

Everytime that he'd come into my room, I'd will him to look at what he does to me. Because deep inside, I do know that he's the reason I do what I do. He's the reason the razor feels so good. He's the one giving me the open wounds on my arms. It isn't me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I woke up the next morning to something touching my face. Or rather, someone. Him. His fingers stroked my face. I shut my eyes tighter. I didn't want to see him. I didn't want him to apologize. I didn't need him to. I knew he wasn't sorry. His lies meant nothing to me.

"Jamie," he whispered, and the sound of his voice made my eyes jump open, "I'm so sorry."

I stared into the beautiful deep oceans that were his eyes. And, like I stated earlier, my anger and resentment towards him went away.

"I know you are, Jared."

"I didn't mean it."

"I know."

"Do you forgive me?"

"I do."

He pulled me to him in a tight embrace. I felt dirty. He'd hurt me so many times and just kept letting him do it; over and over and over again.

Jared left. As he did everyday. I don't know where he did. And frankly, I really didn't care. I sat up in my room. The same as I did every day of the week. My radio was on, the volume turned all the way up. It was meant to help me, to make me not think of Jared and the hurt I'd go through later that night. But that day, it built up. The anger and resentment came back. It almost boiled over.

I heard it clearly over the loudness of the music that night when Jared got home. I heard the door slam. I heard his shoes hit the wood floor of the living room. I heard him stomp up the stairs. And I saw it when he flung my door open.

"Turn that shit off." he yelled.

I did as I was told, but stayed sitting in the center of my bed; staring at him.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm sitting."

"Did you stay inside all damn day again?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I can."

He went on and on about how we needed groceries. He went on and on about how he can't be the only one who supports us and the house we're staying in. He said that if anyone calls the house for me, I should tell him, or answer it, or tell the person to call back later, instead of just ignoring the phone. He went on and on and on. And I was sick of it.

I stood up. "Jared, shut up!"

He stopped in the middle of his ramble. "Excuse me?"

"Shut up." I whispered.

"I-"

"No, Jared! I'm sick you yelling at me every night! I'm tired of you blaming all of your problems on me!"

His face went from shock, directly back to anger. His hand pulled back, and it connected with my face.

I took a few steps back and fell to my bed. Jared had never hit me before. And his face did not look at all like he cared.

"Bitch." was all he said before he left my room, slamming the door behind him.

My hands started shaking. I knew what I had to do. I walked to the bathroom again, just like the night before. This night was going to be different, though.

I picked up the razor and whispered to myself. "He's never going to hurt me again."