James McVey's little sister

Chapter 3

I woke up already knowing that today would be a bad day. I knew this because yesterday was so good- I never get two good days in a row. I'm not that lucky.

I woke up, washed, got changed and went downstairs. "Morning dad" I smiled- correction. Fake smiled.

"Morning honey! I was thinking, today, after school do you want to go hopping for some new clothes? You know, for summer. That's what girls like to do isn't it? Shop?" He awkwardly chuckled, placing his cup of tea down on his coaster.

"Oh, no that's okay I have plenty of clothes. Thank you anyway, it was lovely of you to ask" I replied, avoiding leaving the house- in fear of the bullies.

"Oh, no honestly Thea, it will be my treat. Maybe just a Thea-Daddy day? And we can go for ice-cream after!" He edged on, getting rather excited might I add. I couldn't turn him down now, he was way too exited. I processed what he said. Shopping= anxiety + bullies. Ice-cream= calories + fat.

"Okay then" I smiled, slightly surprising myself. I would just have to work my way around it. Maybe I could ask if we could go down to Exeter shopping outlet, that's would stop the bullies. I could easily just skip my ice-cream or throw it in the bin and the anxiety I would just have to go along with.

"Um, dad..could we maybe go tomorrow? Because it's Friday tomorrow we could stay in a travel lodge in Exeter because Exeter has amazing shops, they're so big! then we could have all day Saturday together and come back Saturday night." I rambled, trying my hardest to hide the things I was avoiding. I think Dad was surprised to see so much come out of me at once to be honest. Except for when face-timing James, I don't think i had ever said that much to Dad at once in Months.

"Of course baby! What a great idea! A day just for us. I will miss you this summer you know" he smiled sadly, leaving me feeling a little guilty. "Anyway, have you had breakfast? We still have 10 minutes. I could make some toast?" He said, slowly getting up out of his arm chair.

"No Dad, it's okay I already ate." I re-assured him.

"Okay honey, clean your teeth and get your shoes on, I'll meet you in the car" he sighed, making his way over to the coat stand while I headed upstairs, sending James a good morning text.

The day went extremely slow- as always. Because I was fairly excited for tomorrow and very excited for next weekend, when we would break up from school and head up to London, my mind decided to make everything extra slow and extra painful.

The end of the day finally rolled around and I climbed into the car, plonking my bag down and pulling down my sleeves, hiding the marks from the sharpeners and the bruises from the rulers. You would be surprised at how much a ruler can hurt someone.

As we got home, I walked in the house and made my way up to my room, texted James about what was happening tomorrow. He said he was excited for me but he had to go to band practise. He said he would ring me back but he never does. I can't complain though- I would be selfish to. He is doing what he loves and manages to pay our bills and put a roof over our heads from it.

Tea was hard. All day, my excitement and the business of my mind had manage to over power 'the voice' a little bit, but now it was back. This time it was louder, and stronger and 10X more dominant. It kept mentioning the self harming and cutting. It was getting more and more often and it was starting to get scary. It wasn't the voice that scared me. It was what my mind would be manipulated into thinking, by the voice.

'Just cut'

'You heard what everyone says- it results in relief'

'You don't deserve James or dad'

'Just one. Just one'

Before I knew it, I was in my bathroom. I clutched hold of the sink so hard that my knuckles went white. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, picking all of my imperfections out. Every time I would pick at spot, or grab at the fat, 'the voice' would praise me. Telling me that I was doing a really good job at putting myself. I don't understand why, but I preferred the praise of the voice than the praise of what I should be getting praised for. The voice spoke so much more truth. I was just about to step on the scales when something caught my eye. An orange disposable razor. I tried to think of how to get the blade out without having to explain the broken razor in the bin to Dad. I gave up and just threw it on the floor. Partly in anger and partly in hunger. Anger at myself for being so ugly and stupid. Anger at myself for slowly giving in to the voice. Hunger for myself to stop. Hunger to give in. Before I could process what was happening, the blade was in my hand, gently placed on my arm. Dark flashbacks of bullying swirled around my head.

Slice.

I impatiently sat for a second or two, waiting to feel the pain from the inside, finally expressed on the outside. It came. I felt joy and relief and happiness. I shouldn't feel that. As a 12 year old I should feel joy from being with my friends, or going to the school disco. Not a blade. But I did. And I enjoyed it so much that I found myself doing it again. And again. And again.

"NO!" I shouted out loud. What have I done.

'Everyone will be so disappointed in you' it hissed.

"You told me to do it!" I spoke back, out loud.

This was like a battle with myself and I don't know how long it would be until this battle would end. Or who would win.