TW// self-harm

I don't remember the small details of that night. 

I remember the pain.

I remember wishing it to be done.

Someone in my science class had told me that maybe I should go die.

I remember grabbing the knife from my drawing kit, the one I used to sharpen pencils.

Maybe I should.

I remember making sure my roommate, my little sister wasn't going to barge in on me doing this. 

One cut was made on my arm. It stung like hell.

But I felt the emotions disappear for a second. I did it two more times before hearing my name being called from the living room.

I rolled down my sleeves, walking out into the living room. My dad told me to do the dishes. 

I rolled up my sleeves and pretended like I was fine and the cuts didn't exist. 

My dad caught me halfway to the kitchen and called my moms name.

"Look at her arm." My mom called me over and saw the three, two-inch-long marks on my forearm. 

My sister and brother were sent to their rooms to play. As my mother sat me down on the couch and pointed to the cuts.

"What happened?" She asked, I repeated the lie I had come up with.

"I kept hitting the sharp part of a door at school. It's fine now"

My mom gave me the most disbelieving look I had ever seen on the face.

"We both know that's not true."

I told them what had happened. I went to my counselor the next day and my mom made me swear in the car I would tell her what happened.

I was shaky as I walked in and she asked me how my week had been.

I had always said fine. To try not to make it more uncomfortable 

I sighed and started,

"It wasn't a good week."