Don't Let Me Fall(27)

“I’m scared…” I said, my lip trembling.

His blue eyes softened.

“Of what?”

I looked down at our hands. This is keeping me from moving. He’s keeping me from hurting myself.

He’s keeping me grounded.

“Of what I’ll do once I walk out,” I said softly.

His fingers tightened around my hand as he walked me out of the elevator. He knows something is wrong with me. Logan knows that I’m utterly f*cked up.

Who says they’re scared of what they’ll do if they walk out of an elevator? Crazy people. Me. I say shit like that.

He must know I’m suicidal now.

He can just do a test on me and he’ll know.

We walked down the corridor, past a glass door. I thought we’d go to the dining hall but Logan walked me out the second glass door, outside.

“Give me your phone,” he said.

I used my free hand to reach into my bag and handed it to him. He started thumbing away at it as we walked down the sidewalk toward the street.

“You’re not working tonight,” Logan said handing me back my phone. “Peyton says it’s fine. It’s a slow day anyways.”

I was going to ask how he knows about Peyton because I never tell Logan anything, when I thought about it. Aimee. I tell her about work and since Logan is her twin, they share

everything. I’m pretty sure Logan has a record of Aimee’s last two periods. That’s how close they are.

We walked toward the twins’ car and Logan held the door open for me. My eyes zeroed in on the small pair of scissors in the cup holder. It’s sharp enough to pierce skin. It could

do its job on my scar. Quick and easy.

My eyes shot to Logan’s and he saw it.

He glanced at the scissors then me then the scissors again. He reached into the car, took them then told me to get in. I went in like a scared dog. As soon as he closed the door, I

leaned against it looking for an escape but not finding one.

Logan got into the car and auto locked the doors. At any other time I’d say something about this being majorly creepy but right now, I sighed in relief. I can’t open the door and

jump out while he drives.

I grabbed the seatbelt and my hands started to shake again as I tried to buckle it in. I can just wrap it around my neck and squeeze. Lose air. Suffocate. Turn purple. Scr–

Logan grabbed my hand and buckled the seatbelt in.

He started the car and pulled onto the street.

I rested my shaky hands on my lap but when my eyes landed on my left wrist, the urge was back.

No! Please go away! Just be normal. Stop thinking about it!

I turned my hand over and dug my fingernails into my jeaned legs. It didn’t help but at least I’m not cutting a vain open. I’m not doing any real damage.

“You’re not the kind of girl that counts calories, are you?” Logan asked glancing at me. He saw my fingers dig into my lap so he reached for my hand again.

It’s weird how he keeps doing it.

And it’s weird how I let him.

“No,” I said staring out at the road.

“Good. Then burgers it–”

He stopped talking when his pinky slid across my scar.

My eyes widened. I curled my right hand into a fist and my toes curled with it. f-uck! I slid my hand out from his and rubbed my thigh up and down a few times until he reached for

it again.

Our eyes met but for the first time in my life, I was embarrassed. Ashamed. I never thought I’d live another day when I slit my wrist. So I cut deep. I didn’t cry out in pain or

start to panic. I stared at the open skin and the blood running out and I thought about Alice. She went through the same thing. I should have died. So I was making up for it.

The first mistake I did was cutting horizontally. I should have done it vertically. It would have been faster. Second mistake was doing it at the wrong time. I thought everyone

would be at the hospital for Kelsey. She just started to get prepared for treatments so she’s been away for long periods of time.

I was wrong that day.

Everyone just went to grab pizza.

I spent most of my time taking a shower so the creepy morgue guy wouldn’t have to stare at me longer than necessary as he washed me.

Literally one minute and twenty seconds after I cut myself, Dad knocked on the door. “Pizza’s nice and hot, Birdie. Don’t make us wait,” he said with a smile in his voice. Three

seconds passed by when I started to panic. He saw the note. Ten. Fifteen. Feet hitting the hardwood floor and the sound of wood cracking made me drop the blade. Dad burst into the

bathroom, ran to me and grabbed me. When he saw my wrist, he starting crying. I’ve never really seen my dad cry so when I did, I said I was sorry. Over and over again. He grabbed a

towel and wrapped it around my wrist. He drove me to the hospital as everyone started to panic. They saw the note. The small blue post-it I left on my bedroom door saying ‘I love

you.’ I should have left it on my bed.

The pizza went stale and no one ate it after that.

“Burgers fine?” Logan asked bringing me back to now.

I nodded as I slumped in my seat.

Logan drove to a burger place nearby, brought me inside to order and then headed back to the car to drive somewhere else to eat. He parked in an empty parking space nearby where the