This story was based on something that happened a few weeks ago, and I followed the advice of my amazing friend Isaac and wrote a story about it to calm myself down. I hope you like reading it.
"Saangi, what's this in your wallet?" His confused voice carries upstairs from the kitchen, where he is sig`ning a field trip form for my brother and watching some sport on television. His words take a moment to register in my mind, but they soon sink in and I become pale, trembling with fear.
"What's what in my wallet, Dad?" I ask sweetly, trying to sound calm. I hold my breath, waiting for an answer. I hope he is talking about something else. Anything would be better than what I suspect he has seen.
He had borrowed my wallet to get my library card, nothing more. Maybe he had noticed the money that I'd stolen from him a week ago,or maybe I'd forgotten to remove the photo of my girlfriend before I'd handed it to him? I would gladly deal with either of those right now, if they could keep away the look of shame and frustration that would flood his face if he had found the razor.
"There's a little piece of metal in here. What is it?" He asks, his tone sounding like he already knows. Thankfully I am still upstairs, so he can't see the tears that have begun to roll down my face.
Wiping them away, I steady my breathing enough to shout downstairs, "I don't know. I'll be down in a minute though." I quickly gather myself, wondering how I could have been stupid enough to leave that in the wallet and willingly surrender it to him.
I desperately search for an excuse to give him, but there is nothing that doesn't sound like a terrible lie. I am left with two options: to tell him the truth or play dumb. I imagine him listening to my story in shock and then sending me away somewhere where he won't have to deal with me, somewhere where he thinks I will be safe from myself.
I quickly make my decision and walk down the stairs as slowly as possible.
He is standing in front of the kitchen sink, just as he was when I went upstairs an hour ago. But his eyes are no longer glued to the television, and he is no longer scrubbing the pots and pans lining the counter.
Now, he has the wallet in one hand and the small, glinting blade in the other. Even from across the room, I can see the tiny drop of red on the tip, matching the slowly drying blood on my arms and legs so perfectly. My broken skin is covered by the heavy clothes I wear, but it seems impossible that he hasn't noticed that little droplet by now. I see my chances of success slowly fading away, and my breath begins to quicken, the bitter taste of fear filling my mouth. .
"Any idea what this is?" He ponders, furrowing his brow and rubbing the dull side with his finger. Upon seeing his face, I realize that he is genuinely confused. The little blade in his hand is a mystery to him, and he just wants me to make everything make sense for him.
And I know exactly what it is, but I can never explain.
I guiltily think of the number of times it has been slashed across my weak, damaged skin. I remember release of a painful stream of thought and worry dammed up in my body, and the feeling of my flesh being stripped away, the blood pooling up, drowning in itself as it leaves me.
"Nope, sorry. It must have fallen in there or something," I suggest, trying to hide my emotions for him. In his mind I am still his perfect little girl, and I will never hurt him by doing anything to change that. I just love him too much to tell him the truth.
"Alright then. Well, I guess I'll just throw this away. Goodnight, sweetheart," he says.
I'm still not sure how much he has figured out, but the sooner he gets rid of it and forgets about that little blade, the better it will be for all of us.
I scamper upstairs and open my night stand. I am greeted by several others like the one that he found. They lay there, glinting and new, waiting to replace the one that has been lost to my carelessness.
All will be alright, I think to myself, slicing the smooth metal through my arm and letting everything melt away.
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