The familiar waves of relief wash over me when the tiny object cuts through my arm once again.
I haven’t cut myself in a week, trying to tone down Ian’s suspicions. Finally, his accusations disappeared and I was left to my own method of self relaxation.
I quickly push the thoughts of Ian out of my mind before they can stop me again. After we weeks of willing myself to keep the razor confined in the dresser, this is all I need at the moment. The cool lapping waves of relief are all I need.
I empty my brain of all the things that would encourage me to stop cutting – Ian, happiness, contentment- and replace them with things to tell me it’s ok to let out all my emotions in the tiny metal razor - hate, anger, sadness. I mix the emotions into the cuts from my razor- slow, deep ones for sadness, and quick, shallow ones for hate and anger.
A sudden sight in front of me causes the razor to fall to the floor and my hand to fly to my mouth to keep me from screaming.
The sight is Ian.
Not just any Ian. The 16 year old Ian stands before me, the one who saw me half-dead in the bathroom, the one who was mentally scarred and scared half to death by my actions.
I’m frozen in terror as he walks slowly towards me.”Stop this.” He begs as he reaches me, grabbing my arms and running his fingers gently over the scars as an implication. His voice sounds distant, as if it’s not even here at all, but somewhere far away from the events taking place.
“Don’t do this.” His distant voice is cracking as the tears flood down his face like a water fall, dripping down his pale cheeks. As they land on my arm, they seep into my open cuts and fading scars. As they land, they seem to be healing the cuts and scars, making them disappear. My eyes widen in horror and I almost scream.
I realize this isn’t reality, it’s a mere hallucination. I close my eyes and shake my head furiously, trying to jolt myself back to reality, where the horror is non-existent. I open my eyes, and the sobbing Ian with his healing tears is gone and my scars are still there and my cuts are still bleeding. I realize my whole body is slick with sweat and I’m panting, shaking like a leaf.
It takes a second for the pounding foot steps to reach my ears before my hands spring to my sleeves. Ian bursts into my room right as my sleeves conceal my last scars.
“Are you ok?” he asks. He’s panting and his voice is shaking. He looks like he’s just seen a ghost or something.
“N-no reason” he shakes his head, like he’s trying to clear something from his head. Then, as quickly as he came, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.
I stare at the spot he was standing only moments ago, looking pale and scared half to death. What the fuck did he see?
I lean my head onto my pillow and suddenly realize my hallucination was trying to tell me something. Not only am I hurting myself, but others around me are just as affected by my actions. If anyone who even remotely cares about me knew about my self-harming, they’d be greatly affected. Ian, my parents, any of my best-friends, and I’m pretty sure Kalel, watching over me from the other side, isn’t too happy either.
I suddenly want to grab every razor, knife, and glass object in the house and throw it out the window, to be lost and never seen again, incapable of hurting my loved ones, whether it’s directly or indirectly.
Suddenly, as the full hallucination springs back to my mind, I realize that’s not the right message. The healing tears carry a different message. But what message is that? What message could healing tears from my best friend possibly carry?
My brain is clouded with fatigue, so I clear away all thoughts of the hallucination and try my best to fall asleep.
I flop onto the couch with a smile on my face. I’m happy I finally let go of my false accusations and trusting Anthony. I sigh happily.
My mood changes as I look to the side and almost scream.
Anthony is sitting right next to me.
But it’s not the current Anthony. The one sitting next to me is the bloody, tattered 16 year old Anthony.
The Anthony’s arms whose arms are covered in fading scars and newly open cuts, whose arms are caked with dried blood and flooded with new blood, whose eyes are filled with hatred, hurt, sadness, and some other emotion I can’t place. The one I found in the bathroom 8 years ago, his life hanging by a short, paper thin thread.
His pleading eyes bore into mine. “Help me” he pleads, coming closer. “I need your help, Ian. No one else can save me from this.” His voice cracks and he starts sobbing.
I look at his face and realize his tears aren’t the familiar crystal clear color of normal tears. No, his tears are a deep crimson color- the color of blood. As they flee his eyes and run down his cheeks, they leave red stains on his cheek, little rivers of pure blood. They start dripping from his chin, splashing onto my arm.
As soon as the bloody tears come in contact with my skin, my whole arm burns as if it’s been dipped in pure acid, tearing holes into my skin. I want to cry out in pain, but my voice is gone, trapped somewhere in my throat.
“Help me.” Anthony pleads again. I realize the bloody rivers on his cheeks are also burning into his skin, leaving bloody holes wherever the tears had touched his face.
My scream catches in my throat again and I close my eyes and shake my head violently. I open my eyes and Anthony is gone. I look down at my arm and it’s clear of any holes caused by the acidy, bloody tears, and the pain as disappeared along with the horrifying hallucination.
The full image of the hallucination enters my mind and I think of Anthony a week ago, in his long sleeves and how I jumped to conclusions. Help me. I need your help, Ian. The hallucination echoes throughout my brain, and before I can stop myself, I’m running down the hall to Anthony’s room. In three seconds flat I reach his door and fling it open, panting and dripping with sweat, both from the hallucination and my sprint down the hallway.
“Are you ok?” I ask, my voice shaking. My eyes fall on his arms and his sleeves are covering his arms. I shake all the accusations bouncing around my skull away.
“Yeah, why?” he answers
“N-no reason.” I stutter. I leave as quickly as I arrived, shutting the door in my haste to get to my bedroom before my shaky legs are unable to bear my weight.
As soon as I get to my bed my legs give out and I collapse onto it, still shaking madly from the bloody hallucination. As soon as my head hits the pillow, I realize the hallucination was trying to tell me something. But what could bloody, acidic tears tearing holes into Anthony’s skin, as well as mine, be trying to tell me? And that pleading voice… It’s all too much and I shake my head to clear it. I decide sleep is all I need right now.
As I try to fall asleep, the image of Anthony’s bloody, broken body with his acidic tears flashes through my mind. Every time I try to push it out, it returns, each image bloodier than the last. Help me, Ian. I need your help. His voice echoes throughout my mind and I shoot up, soaked in sweat once again and tears threatening to flood my eyes. His bloody body keeps flashing through my mind. I need to figure out what the message is. What if it’s something important, and when I find out what it is, it’s already too late? What if it’s trying to tell me Anthony needs severe help right away? I can’t send him to get help without knowing what he needs help with. Only you can help me, Ian. His voice says in my mind again. No one can help him. No one but me. But how the hell am I supposed to help him when I don’t know what he needs help with? I shake my head and try to sleep one last time. Finally, the blackness of sleep consumes me. But before I drift of, I realize something. I can’t run from this horror forever. He needs help, and I’m the only one who can give it to him.
A/N: no, this was not just a filler chapter. These hallucinations will become very important later on, I promise J