I Keep on Running

Without the blankets wrapped around me, I felt vulnerable, even with Jorel standing literally right in front of me. I didn’t feel safe in my home at the moment, with my parents right downstairs. I didn’t care about what they wanted; I just wished them out of the house. I press the palm of my right hand against my moist cheek, wiping away the fat tears that were still rolling down from my eyes. “I don’t want them here any more than you do, Payton,” J mutters to me. I look up at him through teary eyes as he continues with what he was going to say. “So I think we should just go downstairs, and get this over with. Even though I swore I’d kill your fuckin’ dad if I saw him again.”

I sigh. There was literally no way out of this; he couldn’t tell them to go home. When their minds are set, they’re set. He couldn’t fib to them, either- if he said I was sick, my mother would make me soup and try to make me feel better. If he said I wasn’t home, obviously they wouldn’t believe a word he had said. Either way, I guess I had to go see them. J grabs my hands gently and begins to tug me off the mattress. I gave up; my legs allowed me to stand, even though I was swaying just a little bit. He steadies me by wrapping his strong arms around me, one hand placed on the back of my head, which I take the advantage of resting on his chest. I breathe in his nicotine-axe smell, which relaxes me like it usually does.

I look up at him, his lips pulled into a small, caring smile. He then moves his hand from the back of my head, to my cheek, his thumb swiping away yet another row of tears. I faintly smile, my eyes closing while I turn my head to kiss his palm as a way to thank him for calming me down, just a little bit. “Are you ready to see them?” he asks gently.
Again, a heavy sigh makes its way out of my chest, and I nod. “Sure. Like you said, let’s get this over with. Can I grab a sweatshirt first?”
His face lightens up just a tad, but he questions why I need a sweatshirt; it wasn’t cold. I told him by looking down at my bare forearm, cuts running up and down the pale skin. My parents would have a fit if they saw any of this, and I couldn’t just wrap my arm up in a bandage, because they would also question that. He understands, letting me grab his hoodie to slip on. After doing so, he laces our hands together as he guides me down the stairs of our home.

But with each and every step I took, my chest got heavier with anxiety. I didn’t want to see my parents, and I sure as hell didn’t want them to know about Marissa not making it. They would only pretend to care and feel sorrowful about it, I knew that much. We reach the bottom of the stairs, and I quickly tell him I needed to use the restroom. I mean, the main reason why I needed to go in there was to just calm down. And, of course, by calming down… I meant slicing my arm open again. Truthfully, I hated the fact that that helps. I hated having to sneak around Jorel and doing this, even though I tell myself continuously not to do it… I just can’t stop. It’s almost like a security blanket. Anyway- he lets me go into the bathroom as he meets my parents back inside the kitchen, probably telling them I needed to use the restroom.

I shut the door quietly behind me, pressing my back against the door before sliding down to the floor, my legs tucked all the way up to my chest. I was strong upstairs, but I could feel each and every fiber of my being start to tear apart, my chest tighter than it already was before. Breathing was getting more difficult, to the point where I was gasping to get my air inside my lungs. Somehow, I pulled myself up off the floor, leaning against the sink, just staring at myself in the mirror. And like I had always done whenever I came in here, I examined my face. I didn’t even have to take in anything; I took one good look at the bags under my eyes, one look at the huge indents where my clavicles sat, and the tears starting pouring down yet again. I sobbed loudly, not even caring if any of them heard me.

I collapse onto the floor, crying. I needed my stress reliever. Somehow, I managed to open the cabinets of the sink, searching through all the little things I had in there. I knew I had my razor blade in here, but I wasn’t exactly sure where I put it last. Seeing as I couldn’t find it, I started to hyperventilate even more, my hands shaking and knocking over literally everything they touched.

Realization hit me: Jorel threw away my blade. Somehow, someway he found it, and he threw it away, or hid it from me. I started shaking my head back and forth slowly, whispering, “How could you do this to me?” As a last resort, I found Jorel’s razor that he uses to shave his face, hands still shaking violently. I tried prying at it, trying to take one of the five blades out to use against myself. But I couldn’t- obviously, they were in there pretty well. Suddenly enough, there was a knock at the door. “Payton, are you alright in there?” It was Jorel, obviously.
I sighed harshly to myself, “Yes, I’m fine,” I lie, still trying to break one blade free to use on myself. I knew there wasn’t a way I was gonna do it, so I had to think of another possibility. I rolled up my sleeve and pressed his razor against my wrist as tightly as I could, hoping it would catch the skin.
“Do not cut yourself. Please,” I hear him through the door, quiet enough that my parents wouldn’t hear, but loud enough so I could.
My body did the opposite of tensing up; it relaxed, and my hand retracted from my wrist. There were no cuts. I had to listen to Jorel.

I don’t say a word, place the shaver back to where I had found it, picked myself up off the floor and slowly opened the door. I felt the sleeve tumble back over my wrist as I let my arm dangle; walking out of the bathroom into Jorel’s awaiting arms. We did this awkward waddle that resembled a penguin just to get to my parents. It felt foolish, and somehow, I let a small giggle slip out. He hears this, stopping all movement to just give me a kiss. A long, loving kiss against my lips of which I gladly returned. He laces our hands together again, and we finally sit down at the kitchen table, where my parents were sitting. They studied me.

They probably were taking in the fact that I had lost weight- I knew that my cheekbones were exposed just as much as my collarbones were, too. They were also most likely looking at the bags underneath my eyes, wondering what they’re from. And finally, they were most definitely wondering why my hands were empty, no baby at hand or anything.

“Hi hon,” my mother begins, standing up to give me a hug.
I hesitated, but stood nonetheless. We embraced for a moment or two before my father then took me away and hugged me as well. I didn’t wrap my arms around him; I was still mad at him. He never apologized for slapping me, and never apologized for talking badly about Jorel, or starting a fight with him. He lets go, giving me a quizzical look as to why I didn’t join in with the embrace- I just dropped my gaze from him and sat back down. “I’m pretty sure you realize that we don’t necessarily want you here,” I begin, Jorel snorting at my comment, “So, pardon my French, by why the fuck did you guys come here?” I didn’t want to deal with any chit-chat; I just wanted this over and done with. Tell them quick little things, and then tell them yet again to fuck off.

Both of them had been taken back at what I had just said, but they should have seen that coming from the way they treated us almost a year ago. And especially by the way Jorel had kicked them both out. My parents just stared at us blankly, not really sure as to what to say or do. “Payton, sweetie, you’ve lost a ton of weight,” my mom, yet again, tries to start conversation.
I silently look down at my stomach, which was concealed by J’s hoodie. I lightly placed my hands over the fabric, feeling how much my stomach didn’t stick out. “Yeah…,” I mumble sadly.
“Why? Honey, you look horrible.”
I closed my eyes, taking in what my mom had just said. Tears started to well up again, and my nose instantly became moist, causing me to sniffle. My mom was such a bitch, and it wasn’t even funny. She has no idea what her words were doing to me, and it had only been a few minutes talking to her. My chest, once again, tightened up, and I couldn’t breathe. She had no idea, that underneath my sleeves were a million cuts, and what she had said was a small reason behind all of them.

I felt Jorel’s hand on my back, which he rubbed soothingly as I imagined him glaring daggers at the woman who birthed me. “Can we just get on with this?” he asks, hatred tainting each and every word he had just said.
“Fine,” my father finally spoke, “We obviously came by to see our granddaughter. Where is baby Marissa?”
Where is baby Marissa? Where was she? Around my finger, around Jorel’s neck. That’s where she was. I just couldn’t take this anymore, I broke down. My hands found their ways over my face as I sobbed yet again. My body shook with each and every breath I took, with each and every cry I got out. This feeling that I got… I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this before from my parents, even on their last visit. I felt like I was literally being pushed to the edge, my breaking point, I was so close to just wanting to end everything.

Jorel moved closer to me, wrapping his arms around me again, even pulling me into his lap to hold me. Much like a father with his child, he bounced his leg, trying to calm me down, whispering things about how it’s going to be alright. That things are going to get better, that my parents won’t come back and bother me anymore. I turned in his lap, planting my head to his chest again, my tears flowing right onto his shirt. He didn’t seem to mind. I felt his hand caress my back, and my hair like he usually did whenever I broke down. It didn’t seem to be working this time. Nothing seemed to be working this time, and I couldn’t even understand why. I think it was the fact that no one has ever asked straight up where my baby was, and especially since it was my parents who had asked. I couldn’t get over it; I couldn’t do anything but wail about it, no one but Jorel saying words. No one but Jorel coping with me about everything. “Where is Marissa?” I hear again, my heart feeling as if it was being pulled apart; exploding; dying.
My heart began to beat faster than it ever had before, to the point where it started to either skip beats, or add an extra one. Either way, the feeling was not a comfortable one- it made my chest feel as if it were caving in, so I had to take a deeper breath. My heart felt like it was making a “ker-plunk” sound, making it seem like my lungs were malfunctioning. I couldn’t stand this anymore. I stood up, finally snapping.

“Don’t you fucking get it? Marissa isn’t here! She was a stillborn, and you aren’t making anything better!” I screamed at them, pushing past them, which caused my mother to fall on her ass.
“Baby, wait, please don’t go!” I hear Jorel call after me, then hearing his chair slide across the floor as he went to run after me.
When I knew he got stopped by my father asking questions, I raced upstairs into our bedroom and bee-lined into the bathroom. I slammed the door shut, immediately digging through the medicine cabinet for my secret kit. With hands trembling horribly, I somehow managed to pull out the razor blade, slicing my finger on it by accident. I watched as the crimson blood dripped down from the tip of my finger, the dots sticking to the white of the sink in a splatter. My skin ran cold for a moment, the feeling of comfort taking over slightly. I sucked on my finger for a moment, taking in the warm, iron taste of my blood. This wasn’t enough. I remove my finger from my mouth and take the blade to my wrist, pressing harder than I usually did and ripping it back to feel the successful slice I left in its place. I sighed, but cried out, tears still running down my face. “Fucking cunt,” I call out, placing the blade an eighth of an inch away from the cut, pressing down and cutting through again. It felt so good…

My head was pounding, the whooshing sound playing through my ears. I cut again, and again, until I felt like my anxiety was gone. I knew it wasn’t completely gone, so I set the metal against my skin one last time as the door whipped open and in came Jorel. “No! Please, God, Payton stop!” he cries out, complete terror on his face.
I shake my head and slice that one last time before I felt myself collapse again, but never hitting the floor. I’ve never had that happen before, falling over from cutting too much… It took me a minute to realize that J caught me, and he dragged me over to where a towel was hanging on the rack. He took it off quickly, and pressed it as tightly as he could against my arm, tears running down his chubby cheeks now. “Please, Payton! You- you need to stop doing this to yourself, it’s not worth that extra pain! Please,” he cries once more, “Why do you think you have to do this? Why can’t you see that I worry about you, why can’t you see that this isn’t good, that- that I love you to fucking shreds, and I don’t want to lose you?”
I start crying again, “I’m sorry, J… I love you…”

Everything went black.