I shot up in bed and glanced down at the teddy bear tearing at the seams. This poor little guy is going to have no arms if I keep pulling at him the way that I am.
I tossed him aside and stared at my wrists.
The light from outside hit my scar and my eyes widened. There’s a bit of blood running down my wrist.
No.
Shit!
I grabbed my phone and called Jacky. I was shaking so much that I had to check the screen every now and then to make sure I called the right person.
She didn’t answer and I panicked.
I curled my hands into fists and tried not to think about it. About the way I’ll feel if I just grab a razor or something sharp and slide it across my skin. The way the blood will relax me once it runs down my arm. The way–
Remy.
I grabbed my phone and called Remy.
I was about to get his voicemail when he picked up.
“Becka?” he asked out of breath.
I dropped my phone and dug my fingers into my scalp. The itching is back. My fingers are itching to grab something and slide it across my skin.
I hear Remy’s voice calling out to me.
I’m worthless.
It should have been me.
My door swung open, my bed dipped under added weight then hands were on my arms, trying to pull them apart.
“Birdie, look at me.”
My eyes traveled up a crinkled t-shirt then a five o’clock shadow then finally landed on dark eyes. Eyes like mine.
“It’s okay. Breathe,” Dad said with sad eyes.
My arms turned to jell-o as he pulled them apart and rested them on my lap. His eyes found the blood on my left wrist and then he saw my right hand. My fingers have blood caked on them.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said brushing hair off my face. He pulled me into his arms and I tried to say it to myself. Everything will be okay. It doesn’t work. I don’t believe it.
My eyes moved onto the figure standing at my door. Matty is looking at me and I know he’s deciding what to do. I’d tell him to have me thrown off a bridge and left as a meal for sharks but he’ll tell me to stop talking like that and bring Kelsey into the conversation. It’ll work. I’ll stop talking about it.
I gripped Dad’s t-shirt like the answers were there but they’re not. They’re in my head. Torturing me. Haunting me. Killing me.
“It should’ve been me,” I whispered into Dad’s shoulder.
I felt him tense and I wanted to hit myself. Repeatedly. I hate bringing everyone into my problems. Especially my family. They’re dealing with so much already with Kelsey and now they have to deal with the crazy one.
“Jacky’s here,” Matty said, moving back into the hallway.
Dad let go of me to see Jacky jogging into my room. They all shared a look as I stared at the floor. I know they’re thinking about what to do now. Therapy? Rehab? A mental hospital? The cemetery? Something.
I turned in bed and covered myself up.
“I’m sorry,” I sobbed. I never meant to bring them into this. This is my problem. I’m fucked up. I should have to deal with it.
Everyone was whispering for a bit until my light was turned off and a light body climbed onto my bed. Jacky’s arms went around me and she held me like I was a child instead of her sister.
“Were you having sex?” I asked.
“Yeah.” I can hear the smile in that one word.
“Sorry. I always call when you’re busy.”
“It’s fine. Remy got to finish this time.”
We both started laughing and I felt somewhat better.
I’ve called twice before in the last five months and it was always during the middle of the night when the two lovebirds were going at it. It’s not my fault I’d rather have my older sister around telling me I’ll be okay and that she loves me.
I hate bringing Dad and Matty into it. Matty isn’t even eighteen so he shouldn’t have to deal with a suicidal sister and Dad has Kelsey and Mom to think about at the moment.
“Is he mad?” I asked.
“Nah, he has the bed to himself,” Jacky said, running her hand up and down my arm in a gentle caress. “How far did it get this time?”
I don’t want to think about it.
“We just met them,” I said softly.
“What happens if you see it through?” Jacky asked.
I was quiet for a while until I turned and found my sister’s face in the moonlight. “I never get to the end,” I said. “I wake up and the feelings are back. I thought I’d be okay.”
“Maybe you need to talk to someone,” she said, wiping hair off my face. “Someone who doesn’t know what happened.”
I closed my eyes and nodded.
I know I need help. I also need time.
How much time will I need though?
And will time be enough?