Secret Lucidity(57)

Eventually, I shut the water off and grab my towel that’s slung over the curtain rod to dry myself off. When it’s secured around me, I step out and pick up my clothes sitting on the bench. Echoes of laughter and talking bounce through the locker room. I quickly slip on my underwear and pants, pulling them up beneath the towel that’s spotted in tinges of pink. I blot my wound and then lower the towel around my waist while I fasten my bra.

When I hear the voices of a few girls drawing closer from behind the half wall dividing the showers from the lockers, I reach down with quick hands to get my shirt. The towel loosens and, before I can grab it, it falls to the wet floor.

My eyes meet Taylor’s.

I snatch up the towel and use it to cover my stomach, but her expression holds the shock of my truth. She drops her eyes down to the blood, which is stark against the white towel, and my skin pricks instantly.

“Oh my God.”

“Leave me alone, Taylor,” I tell her, trying to brush it off because maybe she didn’t see the source.

“What is that all over your stomach?” She takes a step toward me and reaches for my towel.

I slap her hand away. “What’s your problem?”

“Are you cutting yourself?”

“What?” I pitch an octave too high. “No.”

“Then what are all those scars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She crosses her arms with smugness. “Drop the towel then.”

I huff loudly, scared and annoyed all at the same time, and walk off. She’s quick to follow though, giving me no privacy to slip on my shirt.

“Seriously, Taylor. Leave me alone.”

“What’s going on?” a girl says as I go to my locker, and my fingers tremble when I work the combination to the lock.

“Cam’s slicing and dicing.”

“Shut the fuck up, Taylor!” I snap when I turn around, garnering the attention of nearly the whole team.

I’m still in my bra when she yanks the stained towel out of my hand, and panic paralyzes me in a hot second.

“Eww, gross.” She reacts as several others stare in disgust.

My body flames in mortification, and I shrug on my shirt as fast as I can, slip on my flip-flops, and grab my bag before rushing out. Water from my hair soaks the shoulders of my shirt. I walk around the pool deck to make a quick getaway, but Taylor is right behind me, taunting, “You seriously need help.”

“Back off!”

“Hey,” David shouts from his office at the top of the stairs, but I don’t stop. “What’s going on?”

God, I want to fucking die.

“Cam’s cutting herself,” Taylor announces for everyone to hear. All eyes land on me, and I immediately hear David running down the stairs when I bolt. “Her stomach is hacked up and bleeding.”

“Taylor!” David shouts as I run. “My office. Now!”

Flying through the doors, I feel like vomiting. Sleet falls from the sky, pelting my face as I hightail it to my car. In seconds, I’ve got the key in the ignition and am speeding recklessly out of the parking lot.

With my stomach in knots, I drive too fast, rolling through stop signs in my bit to get home before I break. I take in choppy breaths my lungs choke on before screaming out and slamming my fists against the steering wheel.

I hate Taylor so much, I could kill her with my bare hands. She’s such a bitch, and now, everyone knows the freak I am. They all know my secret, and for what? So she could have the satisfaction of tearing me down and humiliating me in front of everyone? And what the hell is David saying to her right now? Whatever it is, I’m sure she’s eating up the attention he’s giving her, even if it’s pure hate he’s spewing her way. Everyone knows she gets off to him—she’s so fucking desperate for him to notice her.

I wish I could stab the knife of truth—that it’s me who sleeps in his bed—through her tarred heart just to see her suffer.

Slamming the front door behind me, I leave fuming hate in my path up the stairs, into my bedroom, and then my bathroom, where I kick the door shut. With nothing left to lose, and nothing left to hide, I grab my father’s leather shaving bag for the second time today.

My ice-cold hair, which is still wet, plasters around my face, and with nearly numb fingers, I grab my dad’s straight razor and pull it open.

Trembling.

I take in a deep breath, feeling sick to my stomach now that David knows I’ve been lying to him. I feel myself losing control, so I take it back when I dig the blade deep into a new patch of skin.

I watch as it sinks into my flesh, and suddenly, I’m a million colors of tingling remedy. Blood oozes out, thick and dark, and my lips lift in gratitude for the delight. The warmth melts my icy skin, and I drop the razor, slouching farther down until I’m lying on the floor. Molecules and atoms, every tiny fragment of me radiates, freeing me from the weight of the world. My cheek lies flat against the chilly slate floor, and I find peace in the sensation.

I drift far away to a place where nothing can touch me, suspended in blank space, the only sound coming from my slow thumping heart. I turn to my side, curl up in a ball, and close my eyes. My cell phone rings from the pocket of my wool coat that’s still wrapped around me. It’s David, I’m sure, because he’s the only one who calls me these days. I’ve lost everyone else. After what just happened at school, I’m pretty sure I’ll lose him too.