Chapter Eight

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distress
noun
extreme anxiety, sorrow, or pain
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Kaitlyn jerked awake when she heard an obtrusively noisy banging on her door. She knew it wasn't her roommate, because she had a key. The only other person it could've been was Dallon. But Kaitlyn didn't want to answer. Not because it was Dallon, but because it was a person in general. Nonetheless, she answered it anyway.

Dallon had tired eyes and beads of sweat caressing his forehead. "Are you okay?" he exclaimed, panting like a dog.

Kaitlyn didn't want to say yes, but she didn't want to deny it, either. Without a response, she motioned for Dallon to come in, in which he quickly did.

They sat on the couch together, Dallon's bright blue eyes staring straight into Kaitlyn's dark brown. "Did you hurt yourself?" Dallon asked, already knowing the answer.

Kaitlyn dropped her head to hide the few tears that escaped her eyes, but Dallon wasn't having it. "Let me see," he whispered.

Kaitlyn started to sniffle as she pulled up her sleeves, allowing Dallon to see every carving on her arms. To feel Dallon's thumb scan the scars on her wrists was like telling a loved one of a beloved friend's death. She was barely able to stomach it. He finally looked back up at Kaitlyn, then down at her wrists again. "You can't do this to yourself," he said with a strained voice. "It's not alright."

"Niether am I," Kaitlyn thought. That's all she ever thought: "I'm not all right."

That night, Dallon made Kaitlyn promise not to ever do that again. She refused profusely, though, shaking her head as she did so. How could she promise something like that to someone she barely knew or even cared for?

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i'm hungry

p.s. dont self harm

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