𝑩𝑹𝑶𝑲𝑬𝑵 𝑷𝑰𝑬𝑪𝑬𝑺 ☾︎ jmrf [✓]

• 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵 •

—BROKEN PIECES, jonah marais.
00.07 — HELP ME
❝ What do you need? ❞

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Skyler's pov
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Pulling my legs up to my chest—even closer to my body—I could feel them trembling. I shut my eyes tight, blurring all the noises around me and only focussing on the soft music in the background. Small teardrops left the corner of my eyes while my thoughts were trying to take control of my body.

I'm still at Kenzie's house and it's almost three days later since the 'incident'. I haven't had any of my medicines and it's driving me crazy. And I know I said they didn't really work, but they held me stable. Stable enough to hold me back from doing crazy or stupid things that I would regret later.

Trying to draw my thoughts away, but only found out they got darker with the minute. I had folded the drawings and packed them in my bag, hoping they would help me later to understand my feelings and everything.

Kenzie just thinks I'm sick because of the stress and always tells me I need to rest.

But I need my medicines. 'Cause honestly, I don't know how long I can go on without them anymore.

Reaching the bathrooms, my eyes caught my relfection in the mirror. I winced, noticing how red and swole they were and how they carried an odd look. My fingers grasped around the edges of the sink to pull me up, feeling close to breaking down. Something flickered in the corner of my eyes, a razor laying full on display. Being honest, I was tempted, really tempted. I had already reached my hand out to grab it—but backed away quickly. I can't do it.

"You can't. You promised Ashley. You promised her not to go that far. Ever again." I told myself while I was silently crying. I remember the days I would cut and my thoughts would easily fload away.

Ashley caught me one time when I was home alone. She came home too early and found me in the bathroom. She threw the razor away and held my shaking body. It was two—maybe three—years ago. I was fifteen or sixteen years.

I'm two/three years clean. Do I wanna ruin that now?

A frustrated scream escaped my lips, my legs carrying me back to my room. I wrote a note to Kenzie that I was heading home again. She told our boss I had a family emergency the past few days, that I couldn't go to work because of it. She was very understanding, but I feel bad for lying—even tho it's not like I can go to work in the state I am in right now. I feel horrible, always on the edge of my seat, because my anxiety and my thoughts are haunting me.