Don't Look For Me

Cayn gets overwhelmed with her life, her boyfriend doesn't seem right for her, and her family falling apart piece by piece. She runs away from home, only to meet up with a girl named Dee.


4. "Are you OK?"

    Blurry imaged moved directly over my face, and I blinked until I regained my 20/20 vision. My head pounded, and a trickle of something warm crawled across my mouth. My hand instinctively felt my nose and when it drew back, there was blood on my fingers. I looked around, happy to see, and found that I was in the nurses office.  I swung my legs off the nurse bed, and stumbled over to the nurse.

   "Woah woah woah!" She thrummed, "Are you sure you want to walk? You slept for a long time." 

   I narrowed my eyes. "What period is it? Right now?"

  "uh, eighth. Do you want to go home? You only have a little bit of school left."

  "Nah. I'm fine." But the nurse wasn't done drilling me.

  "It was only a slight concussion, did you get much sleep last night?"

    Truth be told, I had been kept up last night listening to my parents argue about me, my grades slipping, and how to provide for me. I was an idiot and let myself be sucked up into the realm of pain like usual and had pressed my razor deep into my wrists. I liked watching the blood slide down my arms and pool on the floor. Of course, I shouldn't have. I never ever should cut. Supposedly. But to me, it wasn't cutting, it was an explanation. A blueprint, a map, of my life. Ever since I was little, my parents have been moving from house to house, from a damp, rat-infested basement, to a one room apartment (I slept on the couch). Of course, This made me feel different than other kids. Whilst all the girls chatted about fashion and boys, I hung around boys and talked about sports, football games, and they didn't judge me. The popular girls called me names like "dyke", "slut", "weirdo". After people started bullying me and my parents started arguing, I started cutting. The flow of blood comforted me in a weird way, and brought me away from my world, my problems. I could explain all that on my body, permanently. In scars. Instead of saying all that to the nurse and risking being sent to a counselor (as if my parents didn't have enough of a handful with me), I just said:

    "I was up doing homework." and rushed off to eighth period, Language Arts, and Beck.

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