The Makeover

39

"The cure for pain is in the pain"

39 | The Truth Untold

Prom night meant many things to different people - happiness, disappointment, memories, sex... but at this very moment, all I could associate it with were drunk teenagers - drunk teenagers who left broken beer bottles in the street.

That's why when I got home, I wasn't surprised to find my feet bloody. At this point I didn't even care. It stopped the pain. It made it better.

I didn't wince as the shards of glass dug deeper into my skin. All I could bring myself to do was limp to my room and isolate myself in the bathroom.

Even then, I didn't pay mind to the glass. I just sat there, with my head against the tiled wall - eyes staring blankly. The only thing that proved that I was still alive was the cutting motion of my nail against my wrist.

It was tempting to fall back into that habit that I had left behind. My psychiatrist had said I was fine; that at the end of tenth grade, I had finally found a way to battle my demons. "She no longer feels the need to harm herself, Mrs Waters."

But I did. Every single time my anxiety whispered into my ear, it was all I wanted to do.

See, that's the thing with anxiety. It can hide itself. Sometimes, you feel like you're done with it - like it's left you for good - but it always comes back, sometimes stronger than before. This was one of those times.

Every thought kept playing itself back in my head - all of them broken tape recorders, stopping at the most painful parts.

You're stupid.

You let them do this to you.

You're pathetic.

I couldn't bring myself to string longer sentences together. Every time I tried to understand why everything happened the way it did; why Annastacia did all of this; how Alex was involved, I hit another wall.

All I could think about was how I was thinking too much - that I needed to somehow stop the pain. I needed to stop thinking.

But there was nothing sharp enough to cut so I turned to the wall. One hit. I seemed to take refuge in the sound I heard when my fist slammed into the wall.

I began to sob. Not because of what had happened tonight, but because of the pain I felt in my knuckles. That in itself was an escape; that with every new punch, another thought was slipping away.

At some point I stopped. I'm not sure when and I'm not exactly sure why but it left me screaming in pain and crying until I could taste salt on my tongue. Somewhere along the way, I stopped screaming too and I was just a mess - bloody fists in my lap - letting the tears roll down my cheeks, clenching my teeth so that I wouldn't have to hear myself sob.

Somewhere in between the tears, Alex walked in.

I wasn't sure how he'd gotten inside, but thanks to my fists and the shards of glass in my feet it didn't matter much to me.

"Katie..." He was hesitant, staring at the image before him in disbelief. No one had ever seen this side of me - no one who lived outside this house.

He hurried to my side, examining my knuckles and cussing under his breath. They were so bloody that I doubt he could see anything except red. He lifted me carefully and brought me to my feet but when he heard my sound of protest, he must have noticed that there was blood there too.

I don't know how long I sat motionless as he ran water over my hands and removed obvious pieces of glass from my skin but I know that I sat emotionless - feeling nothing.