Unabridged and Uncontrollable

I just wanted to be at home. That was somewhere I didn't have much experience with... Even my house felt like it didn't belong to me. Like I wasn't meant to be there. Like people didnt want me around. The sun was so present, right over me. But I didn't want to ask to shut the blinds because it would bring me attention. I was pretty sure there were still people in this class that had never heard of me before. I was so boiling, but of course I couldn't take my sweatshirt off. Even if I was invisible to people, it wasn't worth all the talk if somebody did see. And it was so noticeable, all the precise red lines all over my pale skin. And the amount hasn't been decreasing. I had appeared at the start of the year with the other new people. Nobody payed much attention, there were too many people in the college to care about all of them. So I had blended perfectly, hoping I could be more normal in my head aswell. But every time I thought about it, the pain made me want to scream. And I wanted to do nothing else. There was nothing else. So more and more marks appeared. Permenatly scarred.

The lesson wasn't over and I wanted to leave. People would be at the park. Cameron would try to find me. And I wouldn't be there. Cameron was so pushy. She was sweet but she tried so hard to be friends with me; I couldn't do that. I couldn't let people get too close to me because I was like a pass the parcel. Every layer you unwrapped you got something new. Except, unlike a children's party game, my secrets just got worse. I tried to cover my face with my hair but there wasn't much. It had gone thin when I stripped it. I wanted a change so it went from black to white-blonde. I didn't like it, it made me feel unlike myself. It was still choppy with a huge side fringe, and I so wanted to dye it back. I felt so uncomfortable with it. But again, attracting any attention was not ok. I sighed.

"Ingrid?" I spun, floods of awake entering my body. "I'm Nick." "Nick." I repeated his name. It felt sharp on my tongue. "I saw you across the class. You're new right? Where did you come from?" Oh fuck. "Port Truman. " my answer sounded snappy and he looked a little taken a back. "I know someone from there, do you know Arnold Webb?" I shook my head. Of course I knew Arnold. But I shook my head, Arnold was my nightmares and I didn't ever want to go back to that. He was disappointed and uncomfortable. "I have to go." I nodded and waved. He stumbled off and I relaxed where I was. I held onto my already wrecked folder and scurried off.

I sat on the bathroom floor with my head on my arms, resting on the toilet lid. I was so drained. I felt empty and I felt my ribs. Trying to breathe, I coughed. My throat hurt, my arms hurt, my hips hurt, everything hurt. I couldn't stay here. I got up and walked over to the shower, flicking it on. I was so shaky, I didn't feel like I could stand up so I knelt hunched in the bath, the water beating down on my back and neck. This was not good. Really not very good. My scars stung like fucking lemon juice in paper cuts. Three days clean. Three days. Three, two, one, and suddenly, the water was red. No days clean. My right thigh was covered in cascading, pinky water. I sat and waited for all the evidence to drift away. Through the pipes, the dark, and out. Then I stepped out, and wrapped a towel around my shoulders.

Three minutes later and I had thrown on leggings and a baggy t-shirt. I used seven bracelets to cover up the more visible scars on my right arm and nine on the other. I wasn't leaving the house until the next day but I didn't really want to see them myself. Just keeping me calm, sane and normal. I didn't want food so I grabbed an ice cube and chewed it. 55 calories gone. The door rung and I froze as I was shutting the freezer. Like I had been shut inside with all the ice. Nobody rang at my door. I gradually gathered myself and shuffled to the door. Outside, a key with a note attached. This was strange... I picked it up. On the key tag was my door number in my spidery handwriting. The note was in rough sketchy handwriting, done with a pen that had no ink left. It said "Found your key, Andy". Signed in a felt tip with crosses bolted up over the A and Y. I didn't know Andy. But he knew me. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Not good. It was only a spare key. My stomach hurt, but I couldn't sleep it off. It wasn't just the insomnia that kept me awake, it was the utter dread and intense self-hatred that filled my head when I had that type of time. I just sat with my key and Andy's note trying to forget today, like I always did.

Notes

First Chapter but this is pre-written so more will be up today! xx rate, subscribe, i hope you like it!