The English teacher looks at me with gentle eyes, “Would you please read the next paragraph Amethyst?” I shake my head and look down at the book on my desk. The teacher gives a big sigh, “Alright, Timothy, would you please read?” Timothy proceeds to read. My eyes follow along across the page, when the word “depression” hits me out of nowhere. My face fills with heat as I became paralyzed.
I grab my bag and books, stand up, and walk out of the room. The teacher looks over and says nothing. I head to the bathroom.“Hopefully no one will be in there.”I walk in to fresh white walls, the stalls empty. I lock the door hoping no one will try to come in. I look at my lime green eyes in the mirror, teary eyed and droopy. My black hair hides my face as I bow my head over the sink. I take a few deep breathes. Shaking, I drag my feet to one of the stalls, sliding the cold lock behind me. I push my bag off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor. I crouch down to search for my blade. I blacked out for a second, for now the blade is pressed to my wrist. I look up to the ceiling and drag it across. It stings and blood starts to bubble up. I take it to my skin a few more times and let the blood run. I lean my back against the clammy tiled wall and rest my arm on the floor. I close my eyes and feel calm. I decide to wrap my wrist in toilet paper and tape it up. I walk out of the restroom like nothing happened.
I head out of the Anderson Building and turn my direction towards the Samson Building across the walking bridge. There are tons of red balloons all over,“Must be there is some sort of function or orientation.”I arrive at my advisor/counselors office. The door is slightly open; I peek my head in and knock. He turns to the sound, “Hey, how are you doing?” I look down to the floor, my arms behind my back, and shrug. He leans forward in his chair, “Is everything okay Amethyst?” I shake my head, tears start to fall. Mr. Santilli waves his hand towards him, “Here, come in and we can talk.” I step in and take a seat; I set my wrist in the nest of my cupped hand on my lap. He looks at my wrist, “What’s on your mind?” I breakdown, extend my arm, and push my bracelets up. Mr. Santilli takes my wrists in his hands, “Oh sweetheart, why? I have to take you over to the nurses to bandage this up properly.” I raise my voice and retract my arm from him, “No!” He stands up, “Please, come on, I am going to walk you over.” He opens the door, I don’t want to follow, but I do. The whole way there I keep my eyes on my feet, disappearing and reappearing.
Mr. Santilli proceeds into the nurses explaining what I had done while I wait out in the hall. He motions me to come in. I sit down as the nurse takes care of my wounds, Mr. Santilli stays with me. The nurse finishes up and Mr. Santilli and I walk out. He looks over to me, “You know we are supposed to report this, but I let this one slide for you.” I look back up at him, “Thanks.” Mr. Santilli takes in a deep breathe, “So, do you have another class?” I shake my head, “No, but I’m going to the library to study.” He nods his head, “Alright, I’m going to head back to my office then. Talk to you later?” I nod.
I open the door to the library and head downstairs. There are two guys leaning against the railings on the steps. The one leans over to the other and whispers, but loud enough for me to hear, “She’s definitely a cutter.” I pull my sleeves over my hands.
“They shouldn’t be picking those things out in people. What? Just because I am wearing a light cardigan in hot weather means I cut? Just because my wrists are covered in bracelets, means I cut? It may be true, but that is very rude to be pointing people out like that. I wish I could punch the both of them. At least I have Mr. Santilli to support me through this.”
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