Fix Me

Chapter 12 : Scars

**Avery's POV** (When Harry comes back)

         Now before Aaron had gave me his little...Well...Erm...Dare, we all saw Harry rushing back over here with purple blotches on his neck, and collarbone.

        Me being the gullible, and naïve person I am, I thought they were just some sort of bruise or something that I hadn't noticed from before.

I was definetly mistaken.

Harry went and  sat down in between Louis, and a passed out Niall.

Seriously?!?! How is this kid just sleeping on the cold, hard ground?

[A/N OH! OHH! Trouble, trouble, trouble]

We were all silent for a moment, until I heard a snicker, come from Louis mouth.

"So, Haz," Louis said, I'm assuming referring Harry with a nickname.

         "You uh...Have fun in the bathroom?" He said, before breaking into fits of laughter, with Eleanor joining in.

         I knew they were laughing because of the multiple hickeys on his body, and the fact that he hadn't even attempt to at least cover them up some how, only shows my hatred for him.

         He's so cocky, he plays around with girls hearts, and overall, is just a big, arse. It makes me sick, to even think about the thought of me, having a crush on him, at the beginning of Freshman year. Well, it wasn't really a crush, considering I hadn't talked to him, but I did think he was extremely cute, until he tripped me in the hallway, for absolutely no apparent reason. He would always be pulling the same old stunts everyday, and I never did anything about it. I was to scared too. But it wasn't the tripping in the hallways, that time he hit with that snowball, or any of the physical stuff. It was the things he said. When he told me I was ugly, fat, a whore, worthless.

Worthless.

That was the word that cut me deepest of all.

Why?

         Because for the past two years, I believed it. I believed that I was ugly, and fat and worthless. I didn't look like Zoe, or Andrea or Eleanor.

Having these thoughts build up in my head, that's when I realized.

It's gone.

         That feeling I just had of being laughy and giggly, was gone. That familiar feeling of emptiness was burning throughout the pit of my stomach.

And I wasn't sad that I had started letting loose. I wasn't angry. I just felt...

Empty.

I felt weak.

I sometimes have these thoughts, if I'm feeling a pressure of anxiety, run throughout my body.

          I'm not surprised of this happening. It happens about once-maybe twice a day, and I usually just make that feeling go away, by doing what I do best.

          It's never usually this strong though. If it is, I usually just take a pill or two, even though I'm strongly against doing so, but my parents most of the time, make me. I don't usually feel like it helps me though. The pills I mean. I find it better, and a lot easier...

To just cut.

          I cut until that pain in my chest is relived, even if it takes 5, 10, 15 cuts to make it go away, I'll do it. It feels like a razor is just meant for my body. The way metal slices through my skin, leaving red marks that feel tingly, and sore from the impact. People say, that people who cut are attention whores, or they're freaks. I don't cut because it 'feels good' or some shit like that. No. I cut, because its the only pain that I control. I decide whether I need the cuts to be short, or long. Deep, or shallow. It's all about what I want. In reality, I can't choose. I can't decide for myself. Life just chooses it for me.