Shattered Truths (chapter One)

1.

‼️Trigger warning for this chapter: self harm‼️

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Elara


Pain wakes me up. I open my eyes and readjust them to the dark.

I slowly sit up on my bed and I’m met with immediate pain in my stomach and wince.

There has to be a bruise there. Again. My self harm is getting out of hand again.

I lean to my nightstand and turn on the lamp, wincing even more with every movement I make.

I lift up my t-shirt and gently graze my left side and see that there’s a little bruise right on my rib.

Last nights dinner led me to this.

I blame family events. I blame my mother.

Everything about my family is toxic and depressing. Chaotic.

I want nothing more than to stay home today, but money calls my name.

I don’t even know what time it is.

I sigh and grab my phone from my nightstand.

5:46am.

Fucking hell. I fell asleep three hours ago.

What’s weird is I feel rested but, not fully. I think my body is just so used to this vicious cycle I’ve kept up with.

My phone vibrates.

I only know one person who would be up at this time.

I unlock my phone and see that there’s one missed call from Cade and three messages.

Him: I assume you are asleep?

Him: I just wanted to let you know that I made it home safe. Gonna be working late again tonight but I’ll stop by your house to see you when you get off work.

Him: I hope you sleep better tonight mi amor, you deserve it. I love you, sweet dreams.

I smile and text back.

Me: Goodmorning my sweet. Call me when you can.

I miss you. So much.

One missed call from my mom and finally, one message from the crazy person who’s up at this time. My one and only best friend. Mia.

Her: Don’t forget to bring yourself to work today!!! Cade told me you haven’t been doing too good. I’m worried. Call. Me.

I really don’t wanna talk about anything right now. But, how many times can I keep pushing it off before I explode? Or hold it all in and end up lashing out on people at work, or worse, my favorite people.

I finally get up from my bed and head to the bathroom, doing my morning routine quickly before glancing at myself in the mirror.

I’m frowning. The bags under my eyes are so dark it created a slight shadow. I chew on my bottom lip and start putting on light foundation and concealer to try my best to make myself look better.

Just one day at a time.

I have to keep reminding myself that this feeling is going to get worse if I keep holding it in.

I was gonna call Mia but I decided I’ll just bring her coffee and talk to her in person when I get to work.

I do shoot her a text though.

Me: Get to work twenty minutes early, I’ll try my hardest to gather myself and tell you what’s going on.

I know part of me just wants to get it over with and lie.

Tell her I’m not doing as bad as she thinks.

But I know that if I do, I’ll just get so much worse. But as of now, I don’t have enough energy to admit how I’m actually doing.

Cade doesn’t even know I started harming myself again. I feel terrible lying straight to his face but I like the release way too much. Right now, it’s the only thing I have that doesn’t make me feel like shit.

Weird right? Normally, people who self harm end up feeling guilty afterwards.

I just feel relieved. Like I’m worthy of something.

Something that I have control over.

Control. Silly meaning, silly word. My favorite action.

I live for it, the adrenaline I feel in my bones when I finally do something that no one knows about except for me. It’s what’s kept me going ever since middle school. I’m gonna be twenty three this year. 11 years.

I shake my head and breathe in and out slowly, my breath shaking as I do.

I’m scared to get older. I’m scared of this world and what it’s become.

That’s why I love control.

Because even if I can’t control the world and people’s decisions, I can control how I choose to live in it. I’m only here and holding on for three reasons. Cade, Mia and my kitty cat.

I know it’s not enough to keep the world from burning but it’s enough to make my life a better one.

I don’t even live for myself anymore. But without them my life would be crumbling and fueling the massive fire in my world.

I head back to my room and lock the door behind me. I turn on my bluetooth speaker and open up spotify, hitting shuffle on a playlist I’ve listened to since I started hurting myself. Titled, “Control.”

The first song that plays is “day by day” by picturesque.

I lift up the corner of my mattress and find my tiny blade staring at me.

I stare back at it before picking it up and sit on my bedroom floor.

I continue staring at it, as if I’m trying desperately to win a contest that doesn’t even exist, that’s not real, that’s not actually happening. There was never one to begin with.

I don’t even notice that tears started flowing and I close my eyes.

I hate crying. It burns so bad.

I do what I know best and place the blade on my tummy, thinking to myself ‘somebody save me.’

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