Titles

Chapter Four - Best Friend

Abigail's bedroom ^^

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!!TRIGGER WARNING!! - SLIGHT MENTION OF SELF-HARM

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"Miss Sawyer—"

"Arabella." I snap, interrupting my photography teacher in her attempts to break me from my haze. It's my last hour of the day and I'm ready to drive home, cozy up in Luca's arms, and fall asleep.

"Arabella, did you hear anything I said to you?"

"Definitely," I start, placing my chin in my hand, "but my mind hasn't quite processed the words yet, so would you mind kindly repeating them?" These are the times I wish I could slap a fake, sarcastic smile on my face after my words, but I can't even do that. Not anymore.

She sighs, but repeats herself. "We are going to be doing a project in which each one of you, since this is a very small class, will have an extracurricular activity to photograph for one month. Arabella, you have been assigned football. You should start taking pictures as soon as possible, preferably straight after school at their practice. Questions?"

"Nope." I look back down at my desk, bored, as she moves on to the next student, telling them what activity they are assigned to. My fingers trace one of my palms, then trail up toward the sleeve of my leather jacket I always wear, slightly tugging it up my arm so I can see the light pink, sore, vaguely raised skin on my wrist.

I let my index finger trail over it lightly before I snap out of my daze, discreetly yanking my sleeve back down.

To my classmates, I have no emotions. If they see my arms, it would prove them all wrong. Then the word would spread like it always does in high schools, and everyone would find out Arabella Sawyer can't handle her feelings well enough she resorts to slitting her wrists.

But they don't know the half of it.

No one ever does.

From toddlers to teenagers to full grown adults, no one takes the time to look further into why someone acts a certain way, or does certain things. People move to judge others so quickly, most times before they even know their name, not knowing that just their offensive stare alone could be enough to push someone off the edge. It's impossible to know everything about a person, hell, most people don't know everything about themselves, but people could at least put forth some effort to try.

Luca, my boyfriend, the love of my life, my best friend, didn't know everything about me. Nor did I know everything about him. But we try. And we will keep trying until the end.

No, he doesn't know about me cutting, and he won't for a while. I do wear sweatshirts to bed and my jacket to school everyday, it's not like he's gotten the chance to check out my arms or wrists anytime lately.

I still vote that we should tell him.

No.

Why not, though? He loves us no matter what, and he could probably even help us through this. We know this habit is bad. And dangerous.

That's the thing, it's a habit. It isn't broken easily.

So let him help us.

No. Final answer.

That may be your final answer, but it sure is wrong. Just think about it.

In the back of my head, I hear the bell ring, letting me know school is finally over.

I sigh as I get to my locker and grab my backpack, making sure to take my camera out and loop the strap around my neck before heading to the football field.