Liberosis

Chapter 28

Massive trigger warning for the next chapter. Please do not read if topics of suicide attempts, self-harm or sexual assault trigger or make you uncomfortable. Buckle up... I'm not going to lie, we're in for a sad one besties!

Songs to listen to while reading:

Deep End – Holly Humberstone

Did You Ever Hurt for Me? – Jess Benko

Not About Angels - Birdy

I ball my hands into fists to try and stop the shaking in my hands. I'm fine.

I've been pacing in the lounge for three hours since Harry left. I'm fine.

I keep taking in short and shaky breaths since that's all the air that my lungs seem to be allowing. I'm fine.

Five years ago.

Five years ago, my life completely changed for the worse.

Why am I not over this shit? Why do I always get affected by it on the anniversary date? Why am I like this?

I stop in my tracks, staring at the stairs. Debating what my next move is. This year, I'm handling it a lot worse than what I normally do.

My mind starts flipping through new and old memories like an old video flipping through a film roll. I think about David. I think about the incident. I think about what happened after. I then think about Liam and what happened with him. I think about being held at gun point.

It's almost as if everything has been building up in the form of a water droplet, now at the size where it travels down the leaf. Now hanging on the edge, the water droplet falls and splatters on the ground, just like my composure.

I fall to my knees and whimper, grabbing my hair at the roots and pulling.

Everything flashed into my head at once, bouncing around my head like balloons that have been blown up and let go before they could be tied. It feels like there isn't enough space for all of the traumatic memories and my head is going to burst from the overload.

I know what I need to do.

I stand up emotionlessly and make my way up the stairs, into my bedroom and follow through to the bathroom where I stand staring at the mirror above the sink. I cover my face with my hands, the memories begin replaying in my head again. I can even smell the overwhelming stench of cigarettes fill my senses. I snap my eyes open; I know what I need to do.

Reaching onto the mirror and prying it open to reveal the storage cabinet behind. My eyes fall to the object that I know will help me. The kind of object I haven't touched in years but in this moment, I don't know how else to stop the thoughts.

I pick up the cheap razor that Angela bought for me to use to shave my legs. I throw it with all my strength at the floor, causing the razor to break into pieces. I stand with my feet frozen to the spot. Staring at the two blades fanned together on the floor underneath the broken plastic that held the blades together.

I feel numb at this point, bending down and picking up one of the blades staring at it like it's a piece of art. I haven't held one of these in almost three years and I'm about to throw all of that progress down the drain, is it worth it?

David, incident, Liam, gun.

It's worth it.

I hold the blade in my right hand between my thumb and pointer finger, holding my left arm out so that my forearm is facing upwards. My eyes trace over the scars that are already there, thin white lines layered, some thicker than others. My arm feeling bumpy when I run my finger across the tainted skin.