Torn

Relapse

I run to the very corner of my apartment, which happens to be the corner of my room.

My mind was attacking itself; overwhelming me with questions and making me panic even more.

I try thinking rationally and taking slow, deep breaths, but as usual those methods failed. 

What's wrong with me?

Why can't I be normal?

I'm just a piece of shit and I can't do anything right.

I can't even make my boyfriend happy. All I do is hurt people.

My wrists start to tingle.

You know, that feeling of needing to feel something to feel nothing.

I begin to shake.

I snap the rubber band I keep on my wrist a few times .

Faster. Faster. Harder! 

It snaps.

I feel myself almost passing out.

I get up, almost falling, having to hold onto my bed for balance.

I open my nightstand drawer, revealing red stained blades.

They tell me to pick one of them up.

No. No no no.

I slam the drawer shut and grab my phone charging on top of my nightstand. 

I try texting Anthony, my vision distorted by tears, causing typos.

After erasing and retyping several times, "Com herr, havng panic attack help me"

Almost instantly; "On my way."

Suddenly I feel guilty for giving him the burden that is myself.

I can't take it anymore.

I scratch my arms, opening my healing scabs.

I can't stop. 

Suddenly there's blood everywhere.

My sleeves, my nails, my pants.

I look down on my disastrous self.

I'm a fucking headcase!

I begin hyperventilating again.

I hear a knock at my door but am too weak to get up. I hear it open.

"Rose?! Where are you?!"

"I-in my r-room..." I reply, quieter than intended.

He walks in, I turn trying to hide myself as much as possible.

"Oh my God..."

"Anthony I'm o-okay..."

He runs over to me and helps me up.

I jerk away.

"Stop you'll get blood on you..."

He looks me straight in the eyes.

 "Does it look like I give a shit?"

He pulls me all the way up this time then hugs me tight. He sits on my bed and I follow. 

We hug again, and we stay there until my whines turn to sniffles.

"Go in the bathroom and change. I'll be there in a second."

"Okay."

I open my dresser and grab fluffy purple pajama pants and an old t-shirt advertising our middle school. 

I enter the bathroom, throw my blood and tear covered clothes in the bathtub and get in new ones.

"Okay," I half yell.

Anthony walks in with a bottle of water, hydrogen peroxide, a roll of gauze, and tape.

I look at the items, then look at him with a surprised look.

"I figured that something happened, so I grabbed these on my way out."

Normally I'd smile at an act of something so thoughtful, but I just couldn't.

He gently grabs my arm. I hate him seeing me like this.

"Sweetheart can you please explain to me what went down?"

I tried controlling my breathing. He placed his hand on my back, calming me down.

As he cleaned and wrapped my arms I explained the whole situation, trying to sugarcoat  Adolfo's actions, but Anthony knew the truth. I've never seen him so ticked off.

"Are you kidding me?!" He takes a swing at the wall.

It made me jump back, but seeing my reaction made him hug me apologetically.

"I'm sorry but look what he did to you..." he says, gesturing toward my arms.

All I could do is collapse into his arms and cry again.

He pulled away then wiped the tears off my face.

"Come on, let's go."

"Go where?"

"The store."

"What? Why?"

"Welllll... First things first you and I are gonna get ice cream, then we're gonna go buy snacks for that sleepover tonight."

He smiles eagerly, waiting for me to smile back. 

Which I do.

However, within seconds, it's gone. 

"What about Ad-"

"Hey. No. Fuck him. This is your night."

"Oka- I- yeah. You're right. Let's go."

As we walk out to his car he puts his arm around me.

I let him this time.