Continued....
*Trigger Warning*

The ride back to the Browns' house had been completely quiet besides the few stray hiccups and sniffles I wasn't able to contain in the backseat, the indignity of it all still burning up inside me.

Mack had explained the whole thing, or what he knew, to the Browns' soon after they'd arrived. They'd eventually coaxed me up off the floor, and, I'm ashamed to admit, Don helped me back to their vehicle seeing as I was still a trembling mess.

  I haven't said a word this whole time. I just feel drained of emotion at the moment, detached to the world. Lucy and Don keep passing me worried glances from their seats up front, but I'm sure the way I've been constantly rocking back and forth in my seat doesn't help much, and my right eye seems unable to stop twitching.

I tighten my arms around my legs I have drawn up to my chest, finding the rocking slightly relaxing after the horrible day I'd just had. So what if it makes me look like I belong in a looney-bin? Maybe I do.

Once we're pulled into the parking spot in front of the house, Lucy sits me down at the kitchen table, playing doctor as she examines the bruises forming on my cheekbones. She doesn't say anything as she places an ice pack on my cheek and presses my hand to it in order for it to stay in place.

She just gazes at me for a long time before enveloping me in a hug.

Her lavender scent tickles my nose as I lay my head on her shoulder, gratefully masking the lingering smell of alcohol in my nose. I'd thought I'd have to hold back more tears when she hugged me, but the only sensation I get is a tightening in my chest.

"I'm here if you need to talk," she reminds me as she pulls away, reaching out to push a loose strand of hair from my forehead. I manage a nod to satisfy her. "Now, can you handle a shower? Or Don just might have to do it for you."

The threat of Don cleaning me up gets me moving. I go through the motions of showering and changing into fresh clothes on autopilot, the warm water not doing anything to perk me up.

I retreat to my bedroom after that, declining the offer of super when Lucy offered it. Drowning my room in darkness, I cover myself with my blanket, trying to find a comfortable spot on the mattress.

Hours go by with me listening to Lucy and Don downstairs, hugging the blanket to my face and wanting nothing more than to fall into a blissful dreamless sleep. But the humming in my skin doesn't allow that.

Don and Lucy take turns coming and checking on me throughout the rest of the day and early night. And when I say 'checking', I mean peeking into my room when they think I'm asleep. 

Sometime after they'd fallen asleep, I finally resort to pulling the blanket down from my head and staring blankly up at the ceiling. My mind drifts back over the day, criticizing everything that went bad and trying to figure out how I could of done things differently.

My hand lifts up to touch my neck, and my throat tightens at the memory of earlier.

Then, like a dam's been opened, tears, over all the injustice in my life and today's events, spill down my cheeks. Every emotion comes back tenfold, slamming into my chest with the force of a semi.

I curl up on my bed, burrowing my face into my pillow as I try to contain the sobs. My eyes sting from the tears, and I clutch my hands to my chest as my wrists abruptly begin to burn and simmer at the surface, itching fiercely. My chest aches with each chocked back sob, heart heavy and foreboding after the day's events.

What's the point anyway? You'll just have to live through all this again tomorrow - all the pain and misery.

I turn on to my other side, flipping the blanket over me before kicking it back once it gets too warm in five seconds. The tears run dry, and I'm left with too many different feelings twisting and turning inside me. The antsy feeling returns, and I can't get comfortable no matter how hard I try.

I sit up, setting my bare feet on the ground as I scoot to the edge of the mattress. I lean over, placing my head in my hands. I stare at the floor, chest tight once again, foot tapping at the floor. I let an unsteady breath out, repeatedly running my hands through my hair. I wipe my face with my sleeve, watching as my arm trembles.

I stare down at the floor, losing myself in my thoughts. I come back to myself only to find I'm now furiously rubbing at the itching skin on my left wrist, an area already growing red in irritation.

Jerking up into a standing position and running a hand through my hair again, I start to pace the floor.

No, no, no. That thought needs to go away. Now. I don't need that.

But you do.

Hell, I must be going mental. I'm having arguments with myself. 

No. I'll take care of it outside on the bag. This doesn't have to turn into that - I don't need to resort to that. I'm stronger than the urge.

I look down, finding myself back to scratching at my heated wrist.

Stronger than the urge...

I think I'm going to be sick.

I take deep breaths, trying to focus on something, anything, besides this sizzling sensation that's slowly overtaking my mind and sending one thought out; I need an outlet, or I'm going to break.

Just do it. You remember how releasing it was - how freeing.

I shake my head at myself, pacing faster as an overload of anxiety hits me and makes me even more jittery and on edge.

Nobody would have to know. Keep it all to yourself. More secrets.

My breathing picks up as I work myself up, and I suddenly can't stop alternating between scratching at each of my wrists, the thought of going outside and pummeling the bag not giving me the reassurance and comfort I want.

Just a few slices. That's all. You know you wanna.

I hang my head back to stare at the ceiling, grabbing the back of my neck as I pant. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block the dark thoughts and desires out.

Just. Do. IT.

My arms drop back down to my sides as I turn to pace in the other direction, and I feel my hand accidentally brush up against an object before a sudden crash of breaking glass rings out.

A drop of sweat falls into my eyes as I stare at the small glass jar that, no more than three seconds ago, had been sitting peacefully on the corner of the shelf as a sorta decoration, now broken into dozens of small pieces.

My frozen body tenses as I wait for the sound of approaching footsteps, positive Lucy or Don must've heard the crash and would, undoubtedly, come looking for the cause.

A whole minute ticks by without so much as a sound, and my eyes don't waver from the sharp glass piled on the floor.

No, Alex. You're stronger than this. Fight it. Think of what Mack and Polly would say if they could hear you. The Browns'.

Just one time. All you need is this one time, and you'll feel better. The burden will lessen, the guilt will fade.

I swallow the clump in my throat, shutting my eyes as I take deep breaths. I know none of that is true, yet, after the exhausting day I've had, I can't seem to convince myself otherwise. I just want it all to leave.

My breathing comes out in short pants as my wrists flare to life with liquid fire, pushing me on.

Just one time. Just tonight then tomorrow will be better. It'll be like before I was taken to the underground, before Razim or even MI6. Everything will be easier.

Kneeling down, I reach out with a trembling hand, hovering over the shards of glass a split second before I wrap my fingers around one piece the size of a quarter with one side that's smooth and slightly slanted like a blade.

Heart thumping in my ears, I slowly open my bedroom door, peeking around the door to make sure it's clear before I slip out and step into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

Stepping up to the sink, I can feel my heart beating erratically in my chest in anticipation of what's to come, palms slick with sweat. I glance up at the mirror, finding myself staring into bloodshot eyes that hold a gleam of profound desperation and, I'll go so far as to say, insanity.

Unclenching my fist from around the glass, I stare for only a second before gripping it between my thumb and index finger.

Do it.

                                                                    ~*~

I stare down at the five, thin red lines now marking the inside of my wrist with a mixture of disgust and satisfaction.

"Bloody hell."

I abruptly drop the red stained shard of glass in the sink, stepping back as I grip the sides of my head in horror as the full brunt of what I've just done hits me.

I've been down this road before, one I thought I'd sworn never to come back to. Yet, here I am.

My stomach revolts, and I'm suddenly bending over the toilet, heaving out whatever food I'd had left in my stomach from earlier today. The fresh cuts on my wrist sting as a gust of air hits them while I hover over the toilet, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing myself back into time.

What have I done?

Panic explodes throughout my body as a knock sounds on the door, almost making me puke again.

"Alex, are you alright?" The door handle jiggles. "Open the door."

I go into a complete tizzy at the sound of Don's voice. Flushing the toilet, I rush over to the sink, quickly washing the glass free of blood before I hold my stinging wrist under the tab.

The heat sizzles out, and with it, some of my bustling emotions I'd been trying to remove.

"Alex, you've got ten seconds before I unlock this door myself."

My heart jumps, and my stomach rolls with the threat of sending me over the toilet again. "J-Just a minute." Turning off the water after it stops flowing red, I spread the bracelets back over my wrist, effectively hiding the new marks.

Stashing the shard of glass on a small indent on the wall behind the vanity, I quickly scan the sink top for any evidence. Letting a long breath out, I quickly wipe my face off and head to the door.

Putting my best mask on, I open the door, subconsciously twisting my left wrist around behind my back. Don's serious eyes lock on me the instant the door is open, searching and calculating.

We both stand there, unmoving. "You good?" He questions, looking behind me. I feel my blood pressure spike, afraid he might suddenly know what I did. I wring my hands, ignoring the stinging on my wrist, shifting my feet as I keep my eyes on the floor.

"Yes," I lie, sounding surprisingly convincing to my own ears. Don stares me down for a solid minute, almost like he can tell there's something wrong but doesn't know exactly what.

I feel a drip of sweat run down the back of my neck, anxiety sending a load of nerves out through my body.

"Alright," he finally relents, stepping back. I squeeze past him, probably looking a little too eager to get away but completely unable to stop myself. I shut my bedroom door behind me, leaning back against the wood as I listen.

Ten seconds go by before there's the sound of a floorboard squeaking, then I hear his footsteps fade off towards his room. A pressing guilt clutches at my heart and turns my stomach.

When did my life turn into such a big lie?

Tilting my head back against the door, I let my noodle legs slide me down the wood so I'm in a sitting position. Propping my arms on my knees, I carefully part the bracelets. Skimming a light finger over one of the cuts that's started bleeding again, I let a long breath out.

What have I done?

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A/N

And there is chapter 17! I hope it wasn't too dark for some of you. But you can't say I didn't warn you.

So, like I stated last chapter, I'm quite busy with life at the moment and this chapter was the last one I have written up at the moment. So I honestly don't know when I'll get around to updating. I want to - really I do! But we all know how life is. I just recently had a large curveball thrown at me that I honestly did not ever see coming and it's left me a little shell shocked. (Yes. It involves a boy. Sigh. 🙄)

So, I'll try to update soon. But I really don't know when. I've already had to put all my other books on hold but I didn't want to do that to this one. Yet. So that should show that I'm not giving up on this story. 👌🏻

VOTE!!

'Till we meet again,
Maggy