The girl went into her room quietly, without slamming the door. Calmly, she picked up an incense burner and emptied it of ashes. There was a bowl of potpourri on her dresser, dried lavender flowers. She filled the burner with these and set it down on her desk. Her favorite lighter was in her nightstand drawer. It was a flip top lighter, with the yin-yang symbol on it. Balance. The girl had long ago stopped smiling at the irony.

She sat on her bed and set the flowers on fire. A few of them caught and flared up. She held the lighter over the incense burner much longer than necessary. The flame blew back into her hand. She didn’t react, not even when the heat turned her flesh red and she knew there’d be a blister in the morning.

Finally, the girl took the lighter away. The flowers had all shriveled up and turned black. A few of them were burning embers, sending up weak trails of smoke. The girl bent to catch the sharp scent of herbs that drifted up from the lavender.

As she moved to set the lighter down, she caught sight of her hands. They were covered with scars, each one a silent plea for help that went unanswered. A red mark on the side of her index finger showed where she’d just burned herself.

The embers in the incense burner winked out one by one. The girl relit the potpourri and reached for her CD player. Soon, the melodic sounds of Evanescence filled the room. The girl hummed along as she reached under her bed and withdrew a huge bar of chocolate. She calmly, quietly perched on the side of her bed and ate the entire thing.

After she returned from the bathroom, the girl put the lid back on the incense burner and turned the music off. She gently replaced her favorite lighter in its place of honor in the drawer. Then she switched off the lights and crawled under the covers, where her chaotic self-loathing was belied by her calm demeanor.