//heyo frens I'm putting a trigger warning on this chapter for self harm.  ily guys stay safe//

Reject's POV

There's something I really love about pastels.  I loved the way the strong colors looked the canvas.  But my favorite thing was the way they felt between my fingers when I blended them.  It felt so raw and natural.

This drawing was of a sunset.  I draw a lot of sunsets.  There's something romantic and special about them.  The light of the day ends, and darkness takes over.  It's equally amazing and terrifying.

Humans are taught to fear the dark.  They have a good reason to, anything could be hiding in there.  We can't see so we have to rely solely on our other senses to keep us safe.  But the thing is, once you stop fearing the night, you're free.

That's how I got through living with my father.  He either went out at night or slept.  I almost never got beaten during the night.  It was my escape.  As long as I stayed in my room I could conjure up whatever I wanted.  Everything was silent.  He could hit me all he wanted, but he'll never break my spirit.

I didn't have a voice in my head back then.  I could be left alone without the fear of them infiltrating my thoughts.  I don't know whether to call those better days.  I didn't have voices, but I was with my father.  My father was terrifying.  I have no idea where he is now.  I don't want to know where he is.  As long as he's away from me, I don't care.

I like living here with the boys.  They're nice to me.  I can give them some of my trust.  Although Luke can sometimes be scary, I feel comfortable with them.  That's a far cry from what I felt in the foster homes.  I hated foster homes.  Since I was a "special case" they moved me around every few months trying to find someone that I would bond with or whatever.  Eventually, they just kept me with Jessie because we got along reasonably well and they were running out of people that were willing to take a mute kid.

"Hey, you in here?" Michael popped his head in the doorway.

"You changed colors." I remarked.  Instead of being bright red, his hair was now black with pink in his fringe.

"I did." Michael said proudly, "The colors you picked out look great."

"I thought you were out with the rest of the rest of the guys." I vaguely remembered Ashton telling me that they were doing interviews and such for most of today.

Michael shook his head, "No, not really.  I mean they are out doing interviews and stuff, but I'm not really needed.  I'm just the unimportant guitarist."

"That's not true.  Guitarists are important.  You're important."

He's not going to believe that.  Your encouragement is dumb and it's just making him feel worse

"But Luke also plays the guitar.  People like him more than they like me." Michael said.

"People are stupid." I informed him, "If they don't like you, that's their loss.  You're awesome and I like you."

A huge smile stretched across his face, "Thanks Jasey-Rae.  That means a lot to me."

He's just pretending.  Everyone is.  They don't love you.

"That's a pretty sunset." Michael looked over my artwork, "So, what would you think of maybe taking a few art classes?"

"Art classes?  But I already know how to draw."

"I know," He said, "But art classes will help make you better.  Besides, you might make some friends.  Don't you want friends?"

"Not really."

Michael laughed, "C'mon Rae.  You can't just spend all your time in the house.  Friends are cool."

He's laughing at you, not with you.  He thinks you're stupid.

"No he doesn't."  I mumbled under my breath.

"What was that?" Michael asked me "Did you say something?"

"No." I said quickly.  "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yes." I was starting to get uncomfortable.  He was asking a lot of questions.

"So anyway, would you be interested in the class?  It starts on Monday." Michael looked around my room, "You're a great artist.  Taking a few lessons would help you become an invincible one."

Don't take it.  You don't know who is going to be in that class.  They could be someone that would hurt you.  What if your father has spies out for him?  They could be tracking you.  They could be in this very room.

I looked around the room.  No one was here but Michael and I.  But what if they were in a closet or something?  Oh my God.  What if the boys were actually his spies?  They're being nice now, but they'll just give me back to him later.

You're thinking like me.  Good job.

No.  I shouldn't be thinking like them.  They've made my life even more miserable.

Stop.  I'm a part of you.  Why are you fighting with yourself?

"Rae." Michael snapped his fingers, "You okay?"

"Yes." I answered, "And I don't want to take a class if other people are going to be there."

"Why don't you want to be with the other people?"

I shrugged, "I don't know.  I don't like them."

"Are you afraid of them judging you?" Michael asked me, "It's okay if you are.  I sometimes worry in interviews that I'm saying the wrong thing."

Part of me was sort of afraid that people were judging me.  I didn't like a lot of people watching me.  But that wasn't the major problem.  The voice was the big problem.  They talk a lot when I'm in public.  They talk when I'm at home too, but not as much and not as forcefully.  In public everything got a lot worse.

But I couldn't tell Michael any of that.

"Yes." I said, "I sometimes think that people are judging me."

He nodded, "Yeah, that's totally normal.  It's okay.  But there are also ways to help get better.  We have tour in two months and you're coming with us.  You'll also probably going to have to make public appearances once in a while.  That can be kind of anxiety provoking if you don't know how to prepare yourself for it, ya know?  Going to this art class would be kind of like a trial run.  Practice for when we're busy on tour."

Michael did bring up a good point.  They're going on tour soon.  I'm not prepared for that at all.

"But if you still feel really anxious all the time there's other things we can do to help with that," He continued, "Like therapy."

"No." I immediately answered.  I hated therapy.  It made me uncomfortable.

"I know your last experience with counseling wasn't all that pleasant.  But this time will be different, I promise.  We've already been talking to a lady that we think you'll get along with.  Could you give it a shot?"

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I held the small razor in my hand.  It had come from one of my mini pencil sharpeners.

What are you waiting for?

"I don't want to."

But you have to

"No I don't."

Yes you do

I closed my fist around the razor.  Although it was small, it was sharp.  Any rough contact with it against my skin would surely leave scars.  I put it against the sink.  If I'm not touching it, then the voice can't make me use it.

Pick it back up

"No."

Remember last time when you didn't do what I told you to do?

I nodded.  The screams.  The awful, horrible screams.

Do you want that to happen again?

I shook my head.

Then pick up the razor and do what I tell you.

I picked it back up.  I don't want those screams to come back.  Nothing can even compare to how bad those were.  I'd do anything to avoid hearing those again.

Drag it across your shoulder

I did.  It stung.  A red line appeared in the place where I had just dragged.

Again

"I don't like it." I told them, "I don't want to do it again."

Do it

The voice was more menacing this time.  I made another cut.  I hope they won't get mad.

That's all for today.  Never let anyone see your scars.

Then they disappeared and I was left with a bleeding shoulder and heart full of regret.

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awe Rae my poor baby :(((((

she doesn't deserve this

i am sorry for making you all suffer