BLYTHE. (noun) Happiness, cheerfulness. Someone who's joyful.
Zoe doesn't remember the exact date she got ill. All she knows is that once she was fine and then she wasn't. Unable to find a way to cure her depression, at the tender age of eighteen, s...
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Once upon a time, very very long time ago when Mr. Harris was still there for Zoe, she was on the category of those who don't quite understand why some people self-harm.
Lots and lots of patients went through the doors of Mr. Harris' clinic. Often, he would allow Zoe to stay with him during his private sessions with his patients and more than once she saw that more than half of those people had hurt themselves in some way.
Back then she wasn't that experienced and she was also almost a child. She just couldn't comprehend how they could do this to themselves. And while listening to their talks with Mr. Harris, she grew angry at them, sometimes she was quietly judging.
To her they were all stupid. No matter what you went through, how could you become so weak and do this bizarre thing to yourself? Aren't others hurting you enough?
Zoe had been sad too an awfully lot of times but she was sure she'd never scoop as low as hurting herself. That's what she used to think. It's painful. It'll remain there. It's not good.
"If they want to stop so much why don't they?" Little inexperienced Zoe had asked Mr. Harris one day after a regular patient, a twenty something year old girl, left when she was done crying her eyes out on the man's office.
The mentioned girl had gone six whole months without cutting herself, only to succumb to her toxic temptations the night before. Zoe was extremely disappointed at her and Mr. Harris probably was too. If he was, he did a great job on hiding it.
"It's not that easy, sweetie." Mr. Harris chuckled, patting her head like she were a child.
"Why do they do it? I don't get it. It's stupid." Zoe scowled.
"Remember that time when I had hurt my hand, Zoe?" Mr. Harris asked and Zoe nodded her head. It was the day she slept over his house when she didn't want to go home because her mother was there and her father wasn't. Knowing her mother, she was going to bring over another male and practice her infidelity on one of the furnitures of the house. Probably the couch. Just as an extra piece of information, Zoe had the house renovated as soon as she was financially stable, starting with that damn couch. God knows, the number of times and males her mother had taken there could be enough to make the couch a host for all sorts of sexually transmitted diseases. Zoe was afraid you could get infected just by sitting there.
Mr. Harris had came home drunk and with his hand badly injured that night. It was the first time she had been scared of him. Thanks to her mother, men had turned into one of one of her many nightmares. They weren't to be trusted.
She had almost thought he was going to be abusive like every other drunk person around her but much to her surprise he hadn't. The man was absolutely conscious and careful around Zoe. He also hid his bloodied hand from her so she couldn't see the blood. Zoe found it adorable. She was seventeen years old, she could stand the sight of a little bit of blood.
