Beautiful Disaster

It’s cold outside. And it’s starting to snow. I smile because I know that it’s Avery’s favorite season. He would tell me that any season that has Santa Claus was the best season. But I knew there was a deeper meaning; there always was a deeper meaning behind his playfulness. I knew that he loved the way the snow felt on his skin because it made him feel alive. I knew that he liked how the cold made his cheeks flush red because it made him look alive. He said that winter was the season where you look most alive, not spring.
I lay down next to him in the snow and smile, feeling the cold wrap me up in its version of a blanket.
He wants to see my arms. He always wants to check when I see him. Even though I haven’t cut in years, it’s still a habit of his. He needs to make sure his Ember is keeping herself healthy. I suppose I understand.
I remember how much it hurt him to know that I would hurt myself on purpose. I knew that it killed him to know that he couldn’t save me. No matter what he did, no matter what he thought, no matter what he said, I was the one who had to save me. He couldn’t hold my hand all day and keep me on watch. I had to be the one to decide when enough was enough. But I still remember his face when he first saw my scars.
I first met Avery in a church. Strange to meet guys there, mainly because I never go to church anyway; I don’t believe in organized religion. But it wasn’t on a Sunday, and there wasn’t a service anyway. It was just me sitting there in the first row. I had my longs sleeves pulled up so that He could see my sins laid out on my skin.
I wanted to die.
Most kids strive for the independence I have; it’s not that I can’t take care of myself; it’s just that I would like some attention from her. Anger, pride, love, disappointment…anything would be better than this cold grey wall she has put out to keep me out.
I heard him walk in and quickly pulled down my sleeves. He stopped at my bench and gestured toward the space next to me.
I nodded, and that was how I let Avery McAdams into my life.
He tilted his head down and folded his hands. His skin was pale, almost papery. He had dark, wild, curls that fell all over his head. And he had hazel eyes that were behind thin glasses. He defiantly was not my “type”, yet I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on him. Like a moth to a flame, I felt intrigued.
Finally he lifted his head and turned to me. “I’m Avery McAdams.”
I smiled. “Ember O’Conner.”
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
I shrugged. “What everyone goes to church for, repentance.”
He looked at me with a bemused expression on his face. “What do you have to repent?”
I looked away. “Everything.”
“Look, I know you're type.”
I turned back to him. “My type?”
He grinned. “Yeah. I mean look at you,” he said waving a hand at me. “Everything about you shouts over privileged spoiled brat. You're designer jeans, your glitzy shirt, and your perfectly curled blond hair.”
I glared at him. “You don’t know me. Don’t pretend you do.”
He laughed. “Ok, Ember. Tell me about yourself.”
Maybe it was the fact that I was in a church, or maybe it was the need to prove to him that I didn’t have it easy. Maybe it was that I was sick of this façade.
“My mother ignores my existence and I cut,” I said, making my voice sound as harsh as I could.
I watched in satisfaction as his eyes grew wide, he squirmed in his seat ever so slightly. And then his face fell into a somber expression as he met my eyes with his own. “Show me.”
I pulled my sleeves up and held my wrists out to him. “See?”
He took a minute before looking down at my cuts. His face grew paler, if that is at all possible. “Can I touch them?”
I nodded.
His hands ran over them, almost so gently it made me cry.
“Why?”
It was a simple question, with a simple answer.
I opened my mouth, and the demon that possessed me spoke, “I want to die.”
I grin at Avery and wonder if he remembers that day we first met. He always says that God must have a great sense of humor since he led us both there that day. “I bet he knew that I would drive you mad enough to stop cutting,” he would joke. I would roll my eyes, “Yes he had to know how annoying you would be. He must have known that you would always bother me and check my arms in public.” He would just kiss my forehead. “I was only worried about you.”
Avery has these little quirks. I guess that would be the right word, though I would probably say issues. For one thing, he worships music like it’s a God.
“It is a God,” He whispers, “It binds us all together.”
I smile. And that’s another thing; he says things normal people wouldn’t say. I guess some guys would say that, but they’d only say that to get you in bed. It’s weird because I actually think he means what he says.
“What about religion?” I ask once when we are laying in the football field of my high school. It’s in the evening and there are fireflies swirling above us.
He laughs. “What about it?”
“We’ll are you religious?”
“Everyone is,” he tells me, “Everyone believes that there is a God in some shape or another, whether it’s Buddha, Isis, or Venus. Its human nature to believe in something, if we don’t believe in anything, then what is the point of living?”
I stretch my legs; I’ve never thought of religion like that. It made sense though.
“I mean,” he continues, “I’m not one to go to church every Sunday. I admit that I am selfish, I go to church when I need too.”
He looks at me. “But there has to be a God you know? He’s been real good to me so far.”
I grin.
“What about you?” He asks.
“If there is a God,” I say, “I suppose I’m not dead, so he must be looking out for me.”
Avery smiles and grabs my hand like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Our hands rest on his chest as he closes his eyes.
“Em, I have to say, you are not who I thought you were.”
I look over at him. “What do you mean?”
“I looked at you and saw some prima donna. But after knowing you,” he says, “you’re hurt like everyone else.”
I look away.
“You’re real.”
And like that, he stole my heart. I didn’t want to think like a Taylor Swift song, but I couldn’t help it when I was with him.
I guess I should have realized something back then, but I think I was too caught up in the intensity of it all. How close we had gotten, and how well we understood each other. And he wasn’t like Kaylee, he didn’t want to help me destroy myself, he wanted to heal me.
Once we were sitting in my room. It was a week after our lunch date.
“Hmmm,” he muses, “Where are all of the embarrassing photos of you with pigtails?”
I grin. “I had short hair when I was younger.”
He smiles at me. “Well. Em, this is a disappointment,”
He makes a dramatic sigh and stands up. “I mean, nothing?”
I laugh. “Well…”
His eyes lighten up with excitement. “Yes?”
I get up and look at my bed. “Look under the mattress.”
“ohhh, under the mattress? Is it something dirty?” He asks as he lifts the mattress. It’s my stash of cutting tools. And then he drops it, looking at me.
“Is it a game to you?” He growls.
I look at the floor. Truthfully I want him to know, I want someone to notice me. And maybe that’s why I cut, not to die, but to have someone notice and save me.
I want someone to care.
He grabs my arms and pulls my sleeves up. “You don’t have to do this to yourself,” He whispers even though I know he is angry.
He brings my arm up and kisses each scar. “What will it take to make you stop?”
With Kaylee it was different. She would ask, “Will you hold my hair if l get you band-aids?”
It was like she wanted me to cut, just so she had someone to destroy with. Like me, she didn’t want to be alone. And now I wonder if she wants to be saved as well.
“Em?”
I look up, into his hazel eyes.
He’s waiting for an answer, but I know he is patient. He smiles and starts to kiss the cuts on the other arm. I close my eyes. It’s so different that having a razor there. I always thought that nothing could beat the way a razor felt, but this tops it.
“I want you to save me,” I say, softly, almost like I don’t want him to hear. But I know he does. He drops my arms, I make a face of complaint, and then he takes my face in his hands.
And then he kisses me.
I thought it’ll be like the movies where the boy kisses the girl and it’s all magical. I thought he’ll back me up to the bed without breaking the kiss and then we’ll shed our clothes.
But it’s not like that. Instead he pulls away and kisses my forehead. “Give me your razors.”
I look at him, incredulous.
“What?”
He lifts my mattress up and flips it off my bed and takes all of the razors and puts it in his bag. “Yeah I know that you can always buy new ones.”
I glare at him. “Yeah and I will.”
He grabs my chin, almost roughly, and kisses me hard. “No you won’t.”
And for a minute I agree, but I know deep down that my will power is not that strong and that I will break down.
But I don’t tell him this.