Stop.

My self-issued command was obeyed and I dropped the blade on the windowsill, edging away from it rapidly as if it were a panther about to spring. I glanced at the five cuts curving around my wrist and another sob threatened to escape from the cage that was my body. Stop it, Eve. Pull yourself together. You're a strong, independent woman and you'll get through this. Then something registered. The five cuts, I thought. I'd never cut myself five times at once. It had always been three-when I was younger, I didn't really know what I was doing;I just knew that I was sad and, in some twisted way, this made me feel better. But three had always been the magic number for me after Jack died-three pillows on the bed, three friends in one group at school, three cuts on the wrist. Dad had once caught me in the act when I was eleven and made me promise to never do anything to myself like that again. But I had carried on in secret for months afterwards, living in fear of someone else discovering the secret and lying to anyone who questioned the injury. Sorry, Dad. I guess I'm not your perfect little girl.

Now in the bathroom, I methodically set about hiding the angry red slashes. They weren't very long, but there were more of them to make up for it, climbing up my arm like the staircase to a dystopian world. But as I opened the cabinet, a large box containing medicine slipped out and whacked me on the head as it fell, and I cursed. A little too loudly, it turned out. Mere seconds after the obscene phrase had slipped out of my lips, Mum burst in, obviously furious from hearing me swear. "I'm not, I didn't-" I began, but she cut me off instantly with a look that sent burning shivers down my spine. "I don't like that word, as you know. And this situation is no excuse for using a word like that. You understand that, don't you?" She spoke deliberately slowly and clearly, as if I were a mentally retarded child. Fury boiled in my belly and I squashed it down quickly, trying to prevent it from rising to the surface. Suddenly, a thought struck me. Why not give her a taste of her own medicine? A grin slightly curving my lips, I answered, in the same slow, deliberate tone she had used before.

"I'm...sorry...for...using...that...word...Mum," I said slowly, enjoying the look of confused surprise on her face. "I'll...pick...up...the...box...and...put...it...back." She seemed stunned for a minute(God, she really did think I was incredibly stupid. Ah, well. To each their own) , but regained her composure and glared at me before snapping, "And what are those on your wrist? They weren't there yesterday."

Shit. Why on earth did I decide to wear a t-shirt today? Stupid, stupid, stupid. My bravado instantly destroyed, I eyed her fearfully, wondering if she suspected. If she knew what I'd done, well, there was no telling what she'd do. Slap me again? Call me a freak? Kick me out and disown me? At the back of my mind, a small voice told me that I was being far-fetched and dramatic, but as I looked at her worryingly curious expression I wasn't sure I believed it.

"I, um, I..." I muttered, trying to come up with a plausible excuse before she could work out the truth herself. "I was running around and I got scraped by some brambles. It's nothing." She sighed at me agitatedly, paying no attention to how blatantly untruthful my excuse was. "Well then you need to be more careful,don't you! I can't be constantly washing all your clothes just because of your carelessness!" Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "And make yourself useful and go get plasters so that they don't get infected."

I stared at her, my eyes wide with fury. "You are unbelievable," I snarled, unconsciously taking a step towards her. "You can't treat me as if I'm some mindless object forever, Mum. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a person! I have feelings! And so don't you see why I might just be a tiny bit upset when you just nag me about the state of my clothes instead of, I don't know, acting like a mother that doesn't hate me for no reason?!"

"I'm so sorry, your highness," She simpered, her voice soaked with scornful sarcasm. "So, what was it that you'd like me to say? Poor Eve, cutting herself on the brambles like that! I'm so sorry! Would you like some diamond-encrusted plasters for them, as normal plasters certainly aren't good enough for you? Or maybe you'd like to rethink your hierarchical status and stop being so self-absorbed!" And with that, she swept out of the room, the demon of cruel words tailing close at her heels. I watched her go, numbness sweeping over me. I reflexively gritted my teeth, preparing for the panic attack that I expected would follow, but strangely enough, it didn't. But just after a small bubble of relief had burst in my chest, I began to think that the familiar feeling of heightened anxiety was better than what happened next.

It was like a mist inside my head, thick, dense fog obscuring my thoughts and seeming to block my senses. My whole body felt heavy, as if all my bones were made of iron, and although I could hear the frantic palpitations of heart, I could hardly feel it while it was practically beating the hell out of my ribcage. I only noticed that I was curled up on the floor when my nose touched linoleum, and pushed myself up again, looking around. The room seemed to move at a dizzying rate, but it wasn't spinning round and round. It was more...shifting. Rocking violently under me, as if the world was a plate being tipped to one side.

I took a deep breath, trying to not let fear take over. And then, as abruptly as it had had appeared in my head, the numbness cleared, leaving only apprehension in it's wake. I shuddered, slowly standing up and regaining my bearings. I didn't know a lot about mental health disorders, but I knew that feeling numb for no obvious reason was never a good sign, even if you had never had an anxious thought in my life. I blinked, and felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, pulling me back into reality with a harsh jolt. I pulled it out and, as I'd hoped, a text from Dylan had appeared on the screen.

They're re-screening the last Harry Potter film in celebration of 20 years since the first book was published!! Stupid question, I know, but would you care to join me in watching it tomorrow?

I grinned. And, because two could play at that game, I replied:

Sure. I'll see you there. Have references ready!

Hello!
Sorry I'm posting late, but I'm trying not to be disorganized (it's failing miserably)- I posted on Tuesday like I was supposed to, at least! Tell me what you think of this chapter, and if there's anything I could improve, etc. etc. Again, thankyou for all the support and a new chapter will be up next week.
FeistyPebble x