Dark Side

I couldn't take the whispers in my head, telling me how worthless, hideous and fat that I was. I knew that, and the voices only made things worse, which was killing me inside. My shaky hands locked my bathroom door before grabbing for the tin box that held the razors inside. I lifted up my shirt and glanced at the scars, and then at my stomach; why was I so fucking disgusting? I kept the sobs from exploding, and it took all of my energy to do so. So with soft swift motions, the blade glided across my skin like air, the sharpness of the blade made it so much easier than using the dull ones. I knew how wrong all of this was, but to me it felt so right, I felt calm, and free, and I didn't have much to worry about. Again, I drug the razor across my skin, watching small drops of blood drip down my legs. A few for today is good enough. I put the razor away and began to clean up my mess. I sickly laugh at myself, I claimed to be such a professional at this now, and it took hardly any effort to clean it up. I placed gauze and a bandage over my freshly made cuts and cleaned up the blood. After I'd done so, I rushed back into my room and hid my sources.

Done with the razor for the time being, I decided to take a shower, there was nothing else to be called as useful time. My shower wasn’t working, so my only option was to either use my parents’ or use the boys’ and it would be easier to get back to my room from the boys’. Having made up my mind, I walked to their bathroom, making sure the coast was clear. I turned on the water, making sure that it was hot, boiling, in fact. I didn't know why I fancied the burning feeling that crawled all over my bare skin. It always stung at first, but I became used to it seconds after. I would have called it a soothing shower if it hadn't been for the boiling water to run down my fresh cuts. I hissed at the sting, using my lip as a way to keep me from crying out. This pain quickly began to make me think of this situation.

I was still self-harming, still using razors and slicing my skin just so I could feel the numbness I had grown so used to. At least it let me feel something. As I lathered a loofah with body wash I glanced down at my body. I was repulsed. How would anyone ever find that attractive? Once again I could only see the fat on my stomach, my thighs, my calves. It was everywhere and I wanted… needed it to go away. As the loofah moved along my skin, washing it clean of the blood from minutes earlier, my hand trailed along the scars that covered my hips, my thighs. The scars served as reminders of times when I’d nearly broken and needed to feel alive again.

To most people, self-injury is disgusting, possibly even disturbing, but it was my life line. It made me feel even if what it made me feel wasn’t healthy. My time in the shower was spent basically reliving all of my incidents that led up to where I was now. All of the times I’d stopped and made a little progress, just to have it all thrown away when I went back into my old ways. It was an addiction, a habit that I was beginning to wonder if I would ever break and if I could ever break it. My fingers still trailed along the scars, a little roughly, drawing fresh blood from the newer ones. Shaking my head, I washed it away and turned the shower off. I needed to get back to my room and bandage them before they got bad. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around myself tightly, stepped out of the shower, and crossed the bathroom floor.

Opening the door slowly, I poked my head out, glancing around carefully to make sure nobody was around and stepped into the hall. Great, nobody would know I was there and more importantly nobody would see the new scars. I was almost to the end of the hall when someone appeared out of nowhere, almost back to the safety of my room when I slammed into them. We both fell, a quiet scream escaping my mouth as I hurdled toward the ground, landing on top of them. To my own embarrassment, it was Harry. I had just landed on top of Harry. My usually pale white cheeks flushed a crimson red and I was more than aware that I was only wearing a towel. Yet I couldn’t move. I was frozen there, eyes wide and cheeks red. I was never going to live this one down. “Lana, nice to uh… run in to you here,” Harry said, grinning up at me. How humorous.

“I’m sorry… I was just on my way back to my room and we just collided.” I rolled off of him and he stood up then reached for my hand, hoisting me up off of the floor. As my legs moved, my towel shifted slightly and my hip was visible. The fresh scars were visible. Heartbeat pounding, I locked eyes with Harry who had a puzzled look on his face.

“What was that? On your hip?” He asked as I yanked my towel back into place.

“That? Oh that was nothing. It’s a birthmark.” Lying. Now I was lying to Harry and I wasn’t happy about it, but he didn’t need to know what I was doing to myself. I couldn’t take it anymore. The look on his face was getting to me and I just had to get out of there. Nearly running back to my room, I closed the door once inside and dried off. Sliding on a pair of pajama bottoms and a tee shirt, I sat down on the bed and ran the towel through my hair, waiting. God only knew what would come next. Harry had seen my scars after all, and not just the old ones. He had seen them all. Now the question was, would he go to Liam about it?

Third Person POV.

He looked down at her, glancing frequently at her body frame. She looked frail, a lot smaller than she did in her normal clothes. The bones in her shoulder's barely popped out, while her hips almost did the same. Her white towel began to slip as she adjusted her footing. A few small gashes lined closely together appeared on her hip. “What's that?” He pointed to it. She looked down, before quickly snatching the towel over that spot. She claimed it was a birthmark, but Harry thought otherwise. She soon awkwardly excused herself and locked herself in her room. Harry wasn't sure what had just happened, but he figured that going to Liam would be the best choice.

Harry quickly found his mate playing video games with the other boys, he hated to interrupt but he believe it was urgent enough. Liam obliged with swiftness and followed Harry into the back of the house. "Does Lana by any chance, have dark lined birthmarks going across her hip?" Harry asked, his voice as shaky as ever. He had no clue as to how Liam would react.

Liam's lip began to quiver. "Um.. why do you ask?"

Liam knew something was wrong when Harry began to ask of these things. "Well," Harry slowly added, "I've seen them on her sides, and the ones on her wrists; they're all too familiar, and I was just wondering if -"

"It's nothing, Harry," Liam snapped, shocking himself and his good friend.

Harry of course didn't buy it, he was definitely covering for Lana, and though that was the brotherly thing to do, he should have known a bit better. "I don't believe such rubbish, Liam. Something is going on with Lana, and I don't like it,"

Liam's hand began to pull at his own hair, he didn't like this confrontation, and he didn't like the fact that Harry was acting overly protective over his own sister. "Harry, I have this under control; this is a need to know situation, and that's all there is to it. Please don't follow along with this any longer, Lana is fine." Liam knew she wasn't, he was worried sick for her, and as soon as this conversation ended, he'd march straight upstairs to find out the truth.

“Liam,” Harry grasped on further, “I'm your mate, whatever you are going through – what ever Lana is going through, I'm going to be here to help, you can't stop me from that.” Liam didn't know how to respond to that, so he timidly smiled and left it at that. He skipped three steps at a time to get up to Lana's room. He knocked twice before barging in to see Lana lying down on her bed with her music turned up.

Liam swiftly walked over and turned it off. “Hey!” Lana whined as she sat up on her bed. “What's wrong?” She could see the look on Liam's face, another pained expression. Harry told him... that asshole!

“Are you doing it again?” His question was abrupt, something Lana hadn't seen coming. So she played dumb. She kept her emotions hidden, her face expressionless. She had mastered that talent years ago when everything had first begun.

“Am I doing what?” She replied coolly, keeping her eyes locked on Liam. No, she wasn’t going to talk her way out of this one. Liam’s head was spinning and he didn’t know what was happening anymore.

“Are you doing it again, Lana? You know what I’m talking about.” Lana did know what he was talking about, but what was she supposed to say?

Assuming it was best if she kept her mouth shut, she shook her head. “No, of course not. You trusted me and I’m not going to break that trust. What Harry saw… those were old scars.”

Liam then sighed to himself, feeling better already. He hadn't known she cut there, but it was well enough to know that she was not doing it anymore. He trusted his sister, he truly did, but something was off, and a feeling told him to keep a closer eye on her, which is what he would do.