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8

Bianaca

Iused to fear the dark.

It—the darkness—was where my monsters hid. It was the place I had lost my innocence, my hope, until all that remained was a bitter, frightened girl.

In some twisted way, the darkness was also my savior. With it, I couldn’t make out his face. The lust I knew would be emanating from his eyes. The curve of his lips. Instead, I saw only a silhouette. It allowed me to believe, if only for a moment, that what happened was just a dream. A nightmare.

But with any darkness, light always seeped through. This light wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It just meant that I saw everything with vivid clarity for the first time in my life.

My mind propelled me backward, toward a time I wished to eradicate from my mind.

* * *

I held the blade loosely,surveying the bright silver in the artificial lighting. My body was shaking, but my hand was surprisingly steady.

As I narrowed my eyes at the offending object, I could’ve sworn it whispered seductive promises to me. Ways to diminish the pain that threatened to consume me.

And that was all I wanted…for the pain to stop.

I brought the blade down on my wrist, tears blurring my eyes. They tasted salty—like blood.

The second it would’ve touched my sensitive skin, I paused.

Why should I let Dylan continue to control me the way he had? He shouldn’t be allowed to dictate how I felt about myself and my body. Still, I couldn’t deny that ever since that night, I felt ugly and used. Unwanted. A discarded scrap of trash tossed to the side of the road.

It would be so easy…

I just needed something, anything, to soothe the mental anguish. The mental pain. What would be a better solution than physical pain?

With that thought, I brought the blade once more to my skin. A strangled gasp escaped me as blood welled, a deep, vivid red.

I never knew blood could be so red, so bright. It screamed at me against my pale skin.

Sobbing, I brought the blade back to my skin, parallel to the first mark, and began to cut again.

And again.

And again.

* * *

I was pulledout of my thoughts by a bathroom stall opening and closing. A collection of giggles and heels clanking against the linoleum tiles of the bathroom floor.

Wiping my tears on the sleeve of my blouse, I stood reluctantly, flushed the toilet despite the fact I didn’t use it, and stepped outside. A few of the girls gave me quick glances, no doubt noticing my red, blotchy face, before turning back toward one another. Nobody asked me if I was alright, and I didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

Washing my hands, I shouldered past the throng of curious teenage girls and into the hallway. My breathing was embarrassingly loud, and my heart threatened to pound straight out of my chest.

What was he doing here?

Was this some twisted, fucked up joke by the universe?

Stumbling over my own two feet, I made my way down the hallway. I knew that the majority of the students were in the cafeteria, but the last thing I wanted to do was surround myself with people. They always saw too much, heard too much, assumed the worst. For some undefinable reason, my life felt like it was under a microscope. One wrong move and I would be dissected.

Beau would be waiting for me, but he couldn’t know. Not him. He would see straight through my smile in the way only Beau was able to. I could never hide anything from him no matter how hard I tried.

I tried to gorge the image of Dylan’s face out of my mind, but it remained imprinted. Taunting me. Laughing at me. A scream threatened to escape me, but I kept it in check.