A Way Back Home | Adopted by Gerard Way (Book Two)

Hold On (61)

i apologize in advance for the obnoxious amount of POV switches throughout this chapter

*trigger warning- self harm*

I fucked up. I panicked and I fucked up.

"You know, it's almost June and it's getting pretty warm out... why do you always wear that sweater?"

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that bullshit? "Oh, I just cope by tearing my skin to shreds— I actually haven't in a while, but now I'm triggered and all of a sudden it's sounding like a pretty good option."

No, I'd never dream of saying that out loud. I just made up something about how I'm always cold, how I've always been that way— but she saw the way I was red in the face, sweat on my forehead and my palms. I told her I felt sick (which I did), ran upstairs, locked myself in the bathroom, and now my hoodie is off and in a heap on the floor, and my back is against the cool wood of the door.

The marks on my arms are nothing but scars and mostly-healed scabs. My eyes scan my skin hungrily, looking for a place to hurt, a place to cut, a place to punish myself for telling her about Emerald like I said I'd never do, for telling her anything at all, for ruining my case and winding up here, for existing in the first place.

The bathroom drawers are only a couple feet away. The razors are only a couple feet away. I need relief, I need the spinning in my head to stop, the self hatred to stop, the craving to stop. But mostly I need to stop myself from digging through this drawer with wide, wild eyes and a heart that's beating in my ears, shoving aside a hairbrush, old makeup I never use, a half empty box of bandaids.

Suddenly, I pause my rummaging like a deer caught in headlights at the sound of knocking from outside the bathroom.

"Evelyn?" Laura asks, jiggling the doorknob, "Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah, fine!" I call out, somehow keeping my voice from shaking despite how shaky the rest of me is.

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything," she says back, then, to my relief, I hear her footsteps retreat downstairs.

Slowly, I let out a lungful of air. A pink plastic razor sits in my trembling hand, an itching on my skin that I can't ignore. A longing to feel something aside from the pain that's coming from the inside of my own head and a sinking feeling in my chest. But my phone sits in my pocket, Gerard's contact waiting, but the pull to the blade is so strong.

Breathe, Eve, you're not thinking straight, I tell myself. I mean, you never think straight 'cause you're— not the time.

I slide onto the floor with my back against the door again and lean my head back, then take a deep breath. I find my phone in the front pocket of my hoodie, take it in one hand, the razor in the other, and tears blurring my vision.

I tap on the top contact and let it ring. The seconds go by like minutes, then finally, "Hello?"

"Dad?" My voice breaks and tears fall at the first word that leaves my mouth. Pathetic. "I'm- I'm kind of panicking, but it's stupid 'cause nothing even happened, but I still just wanna—"

"Slow down, Eve. This isn't your dad, it's Mikey. You called the wrong number."

"Fuck, shit, I'm sorry." I try and keep my voice level, hide any evidence of tears pouring down my face when I tell him, "Just ignore everything I just said."

"Are you okay? Do you need me to go get him? He's just in the other room."

I sniff. "Um, yeah. Well, no. I don't know." But if he knew that I'm shaking on the floor, my knees drawn to my chest, and gripping a plastic razor like my life depends on it, he'd be running to get Gerard.