Oh forgot! Text me when you get back K bye You turn on some music. It’s thrashing and loud, music you normally wouldn’t choose. It’s angsty music. It’s good to listen to because you feel angsty. You feel unsettled. How could you have turned Ben away like that, told him to leave, when he was becoming more important to you than anyone, more important than the monster. He could have helped you kill the monster. If only you had told him.
You reach for the safety pins on your nightstand. You have two of them—one small one, and one really big one that could pin together a wool winter coat it’s so huge. You take the big one and start scratching at the very center of the inside of your wrist. You scratch and scrape, scrape, scrape. You don’t break the skin right at this spot though, because you know.
You know what’s underneath that flimsy layer.
It’s a blue river vein.
And what’s flowing in that river is too important. Maybe.
You’re not quite ready for that.
You don’t want to give up quite yet.
Sure, you’re unhappy. You’re so unhappy. The monster’s taken everything away from you that you’ve loved. Your family, your joy, your hope. Ben.
Ben.
The skin at your wrist starts to turn pink, and bits of it flake as you scrape it away and your wrist turns angry. You look at the bulges of blue straining underneath the paper-thin skin. You think it would be so easy, just so very easy to put a little poke there. You wonder what would happen if you just stabbed once.
Twice?
Maybe three quick times?
If you just took the pin to the vein? What could happen? Maybe not much.
Your wrist is really red now, slices of pink etched into your skin, but there’s no prickling of blood.
There’s a knock on your door. You pull the pin away from your wrist and turn off your music. You slide the pin back onto your nightstand and tuck yourself under your comforter, hiding your wrists.
“Come in.”
It’s your brother.
Todd never comes to see you.
“What do you want?”
He’s got his earbuds around his neck and he sits on the edge of your bed.
“Mom says you’re sick.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Cramps.”
“That sucks,” he says.
“I’ll be all right. Happens every month.”
“Not this bad. You okay?”
You can’t believe your brother is actually showing concern for you. This is really strange.
“Do you want something?” you ask.
“Just checking on you.”
“I’m fine.”
He glances at your nightstand, and you’re sure he sees the safety pins but he wouldn’t think anything of it. Then he asks, “Where’s that guy you’ve been hanging out with?”
“Not that it’s any of your business but I think we broke up.”
“Good, I didn’t like him.”
“God, Todd! You’re such an asshole!”
“What? He seemed like a douche. You can do much better.”
“You’re the douche! Get out of my room.”
35
Todd leaves your room and you sink back into your bed, thinking about what a jerk he is. You doze off for a bit and then your mom comes to check on you. What is it with all the sudden concern from everyone? She asks if you’ve eaten anything. You promise her you’ll come down and eat some cereal in a while. You tell her that your cramps are getting better and yes, you even smile at her.
She turns to leave your room.
“Close the door please,” you ask as nicely as you can.
She goes.
You lie in the quiet and comfort of your room.
You breathe.
You think. About what, you’re not sure. But really, you are sure. You know what you’re thinking about. It’s what you’re always thinking about.
Either the monster. Or Ben.
So you text him.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
You need him.
You don’t need the monster. You don’t need the safety pin.
But maybe you do?
Because after you send the text, you go to work on your right hand—a fresh canvas. But this time you stay away from the rivery veins of the inside of your delicate wrist and move to your palm. You prick at it until you peel away some flesh. You discover a way to take the pin and slip it through the top layer without breaking it, and then you actually close the pin. So the pin is attached to your palm. It looks pretty weird, but cool too. You wonder, if you take five safety pins, could you pin one to each of your fingertips? Could you tap your fingers on the tabletop, making music?
Tap, tap, tappity-tap-tap.
At least now you’re not wondering what would happen if you let the river of your vein run dry.
You’re thinking about all of this when your phone beeps: Hi
It’s Ben.
Your stomach churns and this time it’s not from the growling, hungry monster dwelling inside you.
Blood rushes to your head. Before you can think, you text: Do you hate me?
Of course not I’m a terrible person No you’re not I’m so screwed up I’ll give you that ?
You exhale at the sight of the smiley face. Then you text: Thank you for texting me back I was just waiting you were?
Yeah
I’m really messed up I don’t care you don’t?
No
No?
Nope
So what now?
I see my gf again? And she’ll be nice to me?
Yes! Yes! Yes!
36
You know there’s no way your parents are going to let you out since you’ve missed school so you tell Ben to come over at nine o’clock and wait outside for you. He asks if you think that’s a good idea and you tell him that it’ll be fine.
You go to the kitchen and pour yourself a bowl of cereal—Frosted Flakes—and make small talk with your mom, staying far enough away so she can’t see your wrists. You tell her you feel much better and that you’re going to go upstairs and try to catch up on some homework.
“That sounds like a good idea. And I’m glad that you’re eating something.”
You nod and spoon scoops of Frosted Flakes into your mouth. You were so hungry and now the monster has settled. You’re not sure if he’s quiet because you’re eating but you’re just glad the monster is not around.
You finish your cereal, put your bowl in the sink, tell your mom you love her, and head toward the stairs. But before you make it up, your dad turns his head from the TV—ESPN is on, of course—and says, “Oh hey, Pea, how you doing?” and then he’s right back to SportsCenter, not even waiting for your answer. His lack of interest further convinces you that you’re leaving the house tonight.
In your room, you text with Jae, tell her you’re trying to fix things with Ben. You get out your sketch pad to draw but you can’t focus so you put your supplies away. You try to figure out the best way to get out of the house without anyone knowing you’re gone. You decide you’ll have to sneak out your bedroom window. You’ve never done anything like this before but you’re desperate to see Ben. At eight-thirty you open your bedroom door and yell down to your parents: “I’m really tired, I’m going to bed for the night!”