MENTAL | D.M + H.G

Chapter 5

Hermione paced down the dimmed corridors, peeking around each corner for any nighttime nurses lurking around. The last thing she needed was to get caught out past curfew, especially with her arm marked with those angry red lines. She had stretched her sweater down to her fingertips in an attempt to hide the marks she had inflicted upon her skin; the endeavor proved to be futile as her cuts have yet to cease bleeding. The sleeve of her soft cream sweater was now stained dark red, showing evidence of the wounds she previously inflicted.

Hints of regret appeared in her mind.

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.

She repeated the derogatory term to herself as she made the trek back to her room.

She quietly pushed the door open. The moonlight still sneaking in from the window alerted Hermione that she could at least attempt to get sleep. She knew she needed it. Any amount of sleep was better than nothing, and after tonight, her mind was mentally drained.

Settling into the cheaply made mattress, Hermione took more notice of the sleeve of her jumper; it was tainted red, similar to spilt wine. She let out a puff of annoyance and started listing ways to get rid of the evidence of her fragile mental state. She would already have a hard time covering the soon-to-be permanent scars on her wrist.

And even if they did fade, her mind will forever be scarred by those lines.

Hermione shifted her weight off the mattress, to her feet. She found that there was another pair of clothes, folded on the chair in the corner. She slid off the dirty sweats and jumper and changed into somewhat comfortable, clean clothes.

She started glancing around the room, realizing that she doesn't have many options to stash the jumper. Her eyes flew back to get a better look at the bed when she realized that a thick piece of thread on the side of the mattress was slightly unraveled.

Desperate and running out of options, Hermione threw her clothes on the ground and used her little strength to rip open the side of the fabric, but just enough to stuff her clothes and to not make it look obvious that she tore apart the bed.

She tucked the torn fabric back into itself and settled back into the bed. The poorly made blue fabric of her blanket irritated her skin.

It was difficult for her to fall asleep with her arm pulsating from the self-inflicted wounds. Her eyes were focused upon the paneled ceiling and counted the ceiling frames one by one to distract her mind. The ceiling was made up of 120 panels. She counted them over and over, until she lost count and her mind began to drift away from the world. She thought that she might finally get to rest that night.

She hoped not for a peaceful dream. That dream would probably remind her of the reality she lost. No, she doesn't want to be reminded of something that she can't have. Something that seems just in fingertips reach, taunting and teasing her when she knows she will never touch it, not even for a moment.

She hoped for a void of nothingness. A void where her consciousness can just be. Where she isn't worried about others looking at her like she is mental or no worries of pleasing everyone but herself. It may not be what she wanted, but she knows it is what she needed.

No, saying she didn't want it would be a lie. She wanted to feel nothing. Not for long, but just for a little while.

That's what she truly hoped for at that very moment.

And like always, the universe never gives humans their wants and desires.

She thought for a split-second she was going to have it until her mind began spinning. She could almost feel her subconscious pull her mind from the world as if it were panicking, looking for something it may have lost. She felt sick to her stomach and couldn't move any part of her body. Darkness surrounded her, but she could sense that it wasn't completely nothing.