Here's the next update. But before you read, a little something you should know:

I have put my heart and soul into a specific part of this chapter. When you read on, you'd get to know which. The dark parts of the chapter, I believe, are a part of me, so it's taken a lot for me to put this into words, to share it out here for you to read.

I hope you hold on, and if not appreciate, then please don't criticise.

When you feel trapped and suffocated and don't want to live anymore, everyone's method of dealing with it is different. Please remember that, be kind, and don't judge.

Thank you, hoping you'd keep that in mind while you read ahead.

There's a very important note at the end. Please read it. Don't skip.

Happy Reading! Inline comments are love.

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Chapter Eight

[ continued... ]

"Why're you here?" I asked, not bothering to be polite or anything. My eyes flickered from his face to the book and then back to him.

"Like I just said... I came to say sorry," he replied, coming a step upwards.

"Why?" I repeat, closing the door behind me, not wanting my father to hear us.

He motioned us to the steps and I nodded, sitting on the topmost while he just sat beside me.

"I...," He started but then paused, taking in a deep breath. "I don't sympathise with you." He I steered.

"Im here to tell you, that I am sorry that you had to go through a lot and that your mother died and that you're stuck with an asshole of a father, but I don't sympathise with you. There's a difference between the two," he said.

"Then why?" I asked. "Before this accident, I was no one to you. And suddenly, you care so much about me, for my safety, for my phone or for my paintings and for everything that concerns me as if I am the axis around which your world rotates. Why?"

"I don't know," he said instantly, almost frustrated. "I see you out there, and for all I know, I want to help you. I want to make sure you're happy and that you have hope and that another beautiful soul doesn't leave the world just because they don't find a reason to live anymore," he inserted.

"Another?" I ask.

He takes in a deep breath, "My mom. She died because of a drug overdose is what they say, but the real reason is that she just didn't want to live anymore. My dad... he was cheating on her, and he was the only family she had ever known. And she became hopeless. And trust me, she tried. She tried living for a long time for me, she tried smiling everyday but then there was a day that she couldn't. And she left. And everyone is wrong. No overdose of drugs killed her, it was overdose of what the world put on her, it was the hopeless-ness that killed her."

I pause for a moment, observing his face, the way it troubled him to say all of this. "I'm sorry," he says, after a moment.

He nods negatively. "Maybe, this is why whenever I look at you, I... think of myself and I think of my mom. Your father put your mom through much more than what my mom had to go through, and yet she lived. For you. My mom did not. She didn't find me a reason enough to live anymore and it hurt for all these years, until I saw you."

I looked at him, confused, startled, waiting for him to tell me more.

"You didn't have hope to live when you first got up. If you see, you have a lot to live about. You have Aliya, you have your extended family, you have a father, you have me. But none of it... none of it is enough to give you hope for a better tomorrow, is it?" He looks up at me and I nod negatively, slightly.

"You know as they, 'a person can feel lonely in a room full of people', and I look at you, and I understand. When a person loses what they always look at as a reason to live, they lose all hope despite of what they have left with them. And I was mad at mom all these years to just leave, but I think I finally understand. I look at you and I think it's okay. My mother went through double the pain you're going through right now, and I finally see why it was okay for her to give up. It might sound selfish, but you, your pain, it made me forgive her."

I was about to say something, debating about what I should when he cut me off himself.

"And I'm behind you and I'm doing everything I can to make it better for you, because if in some way, in just a little way, if I make you feel happier or even if I give you a little hope, I'd feel much better in an odd way I don't understand. Maybe it's because I feel my mom would have still been alive if someone would have stepped in and helped her when she couldn't help herself. Maybe if I was a little big enough to....." his voice faded.

"It wasn't your fault," I say, "I'm sure you did what you could. Don't blame yourself for nothing."

He looks up at gives me a smile. "I don't, now. I'm sorry if all this came off a little creepy. I just wanted to be a friend, good friend. I think I did overstep."

I gave him a smile. "If you want to be a friend, be you. Don't pretend to be someone you're not, just to make me happy."

"I won't," he agreed, "Deal."

"This book..." I said, pointing out, testing immediately. "Is this your favourite?"

He scratched the back of his head and made this cute face I couldn't understand. "No..." he breathed, "I actually don't like reading books. Aliya picked this up today in the afternoon."

I suppressed a smile, taking the book in my hand and giving him The Fault In Our Stars, which I was just carrying upstairs to read before he came. "Read it," I said.

"Not my thing," he removed his tongue.

"Read it," I smiled, repeating, "I'm going to wait to hear how you like this."

He frowned. "Only if... I am the first person you go to whenever something upsets you, or whenever you feel like you're losing hope or that you don't have any reason to be alive," he proposes.

I pretend to think about it for a moment, the forwarding my hand to him. "Okay..." I agree, "Deal."

He takes my hand, shaking it with a smile. "In return, I read this sappy book, be more of myself and not be creepy," he joked and I chuckled.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow, Manik," I said. He nodded, getting up. "Tomorrow," He promised, before giving me a last smile and leaving as I got in with my copy of Thirteen Reasons Why.

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Trigger Warning: If depressing (suicidal) content triggers you, please refrain from reading the chapter ahead. You wouldn't miss anything important except a little progress between the characters. You have been warned.

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It was a little lesser than midnight when I picked my head from the novel. When I start reading an obsessive book, I often lose track of time.

I should've been asleep by now. I've got school tomorrow. My officially last day at school.

But, I was hungry. Food, the first and last love of my life. While my mind battled between wanting to eat and sleep, I decided to eat first.

I tip toed downstairs, but was surprised to see Emi-- Mia still up.

"You done reading your book, hah?" My Dad asked in a thick English accent. I tried giving him a small smile but nothing came out, so I just nodded. "Want dinner now?"

I nod, taking in a deep breath. "What's for dinner?"

"It's vegetable salad and green risotto," He informed as I sat on the kitchen counter, a little away from where the father-daughter duo were probably baking something.

"I don't like vegetable salads," I said, as a quick memory floated in my mind. All these years, I hated green vegetables while my Mom loved salads. And everytime, mind you, everytime she made it, I threw a crazy fuss and she had to make something else for me to convince me to eat a little of the salad.

"Okay," he said, "Should I make you something else?"

"No," I said, "I'll manage." In reality, I had no idea how to cook. I turned over the leftover pancakes from the fridge onto the microwave and removed an egg to make myself a quick omelette.

"Okay," he agreed, thankfully not insisting. "Dad, I wasn't allowed to not eat vegetables when I said I don't want it," Mia pouted, leaving the mould. I chuckled, removing the pancakes from the microwave.

"Because you young lady, have to listen to me when I tell you to do something. You're not eighteen yet," he ruffled her hair.

"Nandini Di's not eighteen too," she crossed her hand by her chest and I couldn't help but notice how similar she looks to me when she's angry.

"Which is right," Dad raises a playful eyebrow towards me, "Even you should eat your vegetables, young lady."

"Well yeah I should, but I don't want to," I say, looking down at my plate and eating silently.

"Di is behaving like a child!" Mia teased me.

"Di is behaving like a child," Dad repeated, teasing tone. I closed my eyes in annoyance. What did actually annoy me was not his presence or his other daughter or the green vegetables I was asked to eat, it was him acting like nothing ever happened. As if he could walk in and walk out of my life whenever he likes.

"Yeah?" I say, my voice laced with sarcasm. "And how would you know that?" I give a little laugh, "You weren't around when I was a child!"

I look into my plate silently. A moment of silence followed. I felt his presence near me, and I knew he was sitting on the chair near me.

"Nandini, I am your father, and I love you," he began. "I know I've made some terrible mistakes and I'm sorry--"

I stopped him in the middle, "You're not." I interrupted. "You're not sorry!" I corrected, "And that's the thing you see, if you were sorry in the first place, you would have never left. And if you do love me, why wait ten years until you saw me? Why come back just when you're forced to? Why come back to show me that I'm a burden?" I shout.

"You're not a burden!" He corrected, "You're my daughter and I'm here for you."

I got up, wiping away the silent traitor tears that flowed away.

"She's your daughter!" I pointed at Mia. "She's your daughter when you force her to eat vegetables because you have that right. You'd never ever tell me anything, or be able to force me to do anything, because you and I both know that you don't have the right. Not anymore."

He looked at me and I looked at him, neither of us knowing what to do. I kept a hand on my mouth to drink away all that kept flowing out and I saw tears gazing in his eyes too as he gave me a helpless expression.

"I'm really trying--" his voice broke, "I'm really trying to be your father."

"Maybe you are," I say in a tired, helpless whisper, "Maybe. But all these years, I spent trying to understand what was wrong with me. All these years, I kept trying to understand why me?; kept asking myself, 'why doesn't my father want me?' I kept thinking that there's something wrong with me; there's something wrong with me and maybe you knew it!" I was sobbing now.

"There's nothing wrong with you!" He was crying too. "It was me. I fucked up! Don't do this to yourself, please...." his voice faded as tears clouded his eyes.

"Don't do this to yourself?" I really felt like laughing, "I have been doing this to myself for the past ten years, Dad. I have been doing this to myself on every Father's Day, or my birthday or yours or everytime I see a little girl speak about how her father is a hero, and you know the first thought that came in my mind? It was that I wish I could say the same."

"And I hated myself. I hated myself because of how desperate my heart was to have you once more in my life despite of everything you did, everything you put my mother through; I still wanted you, I still loved you. And you never came back. I waited Dad. But you never came." My voice was just a whisper in the end.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, crying too. "I wish you knew how much I love you."

"It doesn't make any difference anymore, does it? The times gone. My mother's gone. Nothing's ever coming back, nothing we do will bring her back. Everything's over, you see? And your sorry can't fix anything." I said, and didn't wait for a reply as I stormed off to my room.

Closing the door, I fell leaning on it, burying my head into my knees as I closed my mouth with my hand to prevent the screams from escaping, the sobs and the pain.

I felt trapped.

I felt suffocated.

The end everything that makes you live, and then leave you to find happiness? What kind of justice was that?

Why couldn't I have just died?

Why did I ever live?

I didn't even realise how I was up, into the bathroom, a razor in my hand. It was as if something possessed me, I was no more in control of my actions.

All I knew is that I wanted to give up as I pulled the blade out of the razor.

I looked at my left arm, full of cuts and bruises after the accident. A few fresh cuts wouldn't matter anymore, would it?

No one would know, right?

I mean, I wasn't commuting suicide. I was just cutting myself; breaking myself a little; making me more broken than I already was.

As I placed the blade on my forearm, I made a small incision. Really minor. Just a little more than a centimetre and all the blood came gushing out.

I kept staring at it. I kept waiting to feel the pain all at once, breaking through me. Atleast I had a reason to cry now. The pain that I filled kept filling in the emptiness of my heart and the loneliness of my life, giving me new scars over the ones that people I had loved left behind with me.

I could have stared at it forever, had not I felt something ring all of a sudden in my jeans pocket. Suddenly, I was startled and shocked and ashamed, as if someone would hear the ringtone and break into the bathroom door and catch me doing whatever I was.

As if a sense of reality knocked inside me, I threw the razor away, horrified of it.

What was I doing?

I was the one that wrote all these articles in the school magazine against self harm and creating awareness about it, encouraging people that help was available if they needed it; and here I am one day, self harming myself.

I felt ashamed.

I felt even more trapped than I already did.

What would anyone think of me?

Maybe they'd see me for who I really am. A coward; A person who gave up so easily. A person who self harmed.

But I wasn't weak. I was trying so hard to fight as much as I could, and I just felt lost for a while. Feeling lost was alright, right?

Is being not okay, okay too?

A sound pulled me out of my thoughts again. I looked around confused, then seeing my phone in my hand. Clutched tight. So tight that I had called back Manik and not even realised. Fuck, I hate the swipe-to-call-back feature in Apple.

When I pressed my phone to my ear, he was probably screaming hello for the fifteenth time.

"Hello," I murmured back, bringing the phone to my ear.

"Oh thank god you're not asleep, Nandini! What the fuck? Which book have you given me? I cried. I literally just cried. Augustus Waters died?" He ranted. "I wanted to make you my friend, and this is what you do to me? This?" He was being over dramatic.

I tried saying something but nothing came out. I felt a little numb, a little frozen.

Augustus Waters died? The line stuck with me.

Perhaps I should have died too.

"Nandini, are you okay?" He asked after he realised I wouldn't respond. Silence again.

"Fuck it, I'm coming there. Could you be courteous enough to open the door and show your face?" He was testing me. I nodded, then realising he couldn't see me. I did, did need to see him. Anyone, actually. Any human who wouldn't give me a reason to end this torture humans call life.

"Y-yes," I stammered in a very low voice, then picking myself up. "Could you bring a medical box if possible?" I said, looking at the bleeding wound.

I was met with silence for a minute before a panicked, shocked, chaotic whisper. "Nandini, what the fuck did you do?"

What the fuck did I do?

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Seven minutes later, I was waiting outside my car, staring at the stairs, wearing a cardigan, sticking close to me, trying to let the sleeves of the knitted cardigan cover all my scars, but I still couldn't take my eyes off the red blot of blood that had formed on the fresh cut.

My eyes kept closing when sleep lingered but I didn't want to sleep. I wanted to avoid an abyss of nightmares like last night.

My mind drifted to a lot of thoughts to keep me away from unnecessary ones, and it often ended up stopping on the boy who was coming to see me.

Just because I didn't respond on the phone.

Just because he wanted to help me.

Just because he wanted to be there.

And ironically, not to forget, he was my best friend's boyfriend.

I couldn't help but wonder, if there was another reason to all of this?

What if it was something beyond what he was showing?

I was so lost, that I didn't notice when he parked his car and walked to me until he held my hand in his, staring at the blood with wide eyes, his eyes full of anger, but more of concern.

A concern that clearly spoke of something more than what a friend would do for another.

But, what if I was wrong?

And then, out of nowhere, I felt a sudden lull a Amy head banged with his chest and his strong, toned, muscular arms wrapped around my back protectively, his chin on my head, as if he wasn't assuring me that I was fine, but himself.

The first time, I felt his skin on me, his heart beating in coordination with mine, and as I hesitantly kept my hands on his shoulder, I couldn't help but think just one thing: What if I was right?

[ a.n.: important note at the end, please read ]

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She didn't know why she did it,
she felt trapped inside her skin,
and maybe,
she thought,
just maybe,
the cuts would let the light in.

- A T T I C U S -

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Questions:

1. What do you think of today's update?

2. Liked it?

3. Fav part?

4. A partial part of Manik's past is out. Thoughts?

5. Do you think Nandini is right at the point she is?

6. MaNan is progressing! Slow, steady, yet they're getting there. Do you see it?

7. Would you like to see more of Nandini's Dad and her talks?

8. Anything in particular you'd like to see ahead?

9. Any character you'd like to see more? (Mia/Mukti/Aliya/Cabir/Nandini's mom/Her Dad)

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Read this.

You're a warrior. You're a fighter. You fight every single day, and that makes you brave. And the bravest thing you've done so far is to stay alive, every day.

No matter what you think of yourself, no matter what your demons and pains are, don't forget, it's all a part of you. Embrace it. Find enough good in yourself to save a person when they need it, even if that person is yourself.

And don't forget, being not okay is okay too.

It's okay to let in the dark thoughts sometimes and drown in them. Wanting to give up everything is fine. Just don't let it consume you. Reach out, talk to your friends, and if you can't find the courage to, feel free to text me.

No one will judge you. And you're taking this from a girl who's given up a lot of times, and still managed to go on; from a tainted girl who's seen much more than you think, done some terrible mistakes, has some crazy nightmares, and is totally dysfunctional.

It's okay. Take a deep breath. You're not alone. I'd have your back. This world's a crazy place, but you belong here. Don't give up just yet.

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Vote, comment, share.

Lots of love.

~H.