Stripping away my clothes, I moved to my dresser. My eyes remained trained on its wooden gloss, making a point not to examine my own body. My skin. It had been a long day, my shoulder now cramping and stiff from its fixed position behind my back. I rotated it, rolling my head back while doing so, wincing at the tension it provoked.

After a moment more of rubbing and mashing at my neck muscles, I decided to leave it, sighing in discomfort. Pulling open my dresser, I examined some of my shirts to make sure nothing was out of place. Nothing had been touched. Nudging a few sweatshirts around, I peered at the bottom right corner of my drawer, making sure they were still there.

I relaxed a little, seeing that no one had found them: A flat metal container, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand, reading out, "Double Edge Stainless Steel Blades." I picked the product up, rolling it back and forth in my hand as it glistened in the artificial light. I had five razors left, meaning more would have to be bought soon...

I grimaced at my own urgency, patting them back in their place at the bottom of my drawer. Mindlessly grabbing a long sleeved shirt, as well as a black pair of pants, I made my way out of the room and into the bathroom next door.

The floor was cold as ever, sending a shocked chill up my spine as I entered. Averting my eyes from the mirror, I set my clothes on the toilet seat before turning on the hot water. The heat burned my skin profoundly, but that only seemed to sooth my muscles more.

I took a moment to absorb the sensation, letting out a soft moan as the tension in my shoulder melted away. Turning around, I tilted my head back to soak my hair, fingers running through it as I rubbed the dirt away. I scowled at the bits and pieces of fluff the birds had left me, flooding my fingertips with feathers.

Grumbling, I grabbed the shampoo, lathering it in. Once rinsed, I did the same with the conditioner, combing my hair out while it still seeped into my scalp. I took as much time as I could before moving on to the worst part.

Rinsing my hair once again, I took a loofa and piled it on with body wash. I sucked in a breath, beginning to rub it against my raw skin. Down my chest, where I had carved triangles and deep lines along it. Across my stomach, stripped with 'Xs' that reached around to the sides of my torso.

Over my shoulders, marked this way and that with both horizontal and vertical scars, dragging down the back of my shoulder blades as well as across my collar bone. Around the sensitive flesh of my arms, where I had preformed all manor of harm. The over layering of cuts. The practice of burning. Periodic picks and scratches.

My inner thighs, nipped with baby cuts. My outer thighs, where I had stupidly sliced the word "happy" all over them repeatedly, were coupled with viciously deep hashtag markings on my hips.

I scrubbed down my calves, the only spots I hadn't really touched, aside from the backs of my knees. Little slits poked out of the crevasses where my knee bent back, and I hissed as the loofa rubber over the sensitive tendons.

I scrubbed at my feet, the scars on my ankles and toes healed and white. If Paz hadn't been waiting downstairs for me, I might have found myself stuck in another trance, baffled by why I did it and exactly what made me this way in the first place.

But I snapped out of it quickly, letting the water rinse over me before stepping out. I dried off, viewing myself in the mirror for the first time all day: Holy shit. I looked like an absolute mess.

I had huge bags under my eyes, and it didn't help that they were puffy from my constant crying. I let out a groan, my teenage hormones working against me.

"Fuck."

I ruffled my damp hair, letting out a 'tsk' in annoyance. That wasn't going to do shit. I rubbed my hands over my face, mumbling into my palms with both embarrassment and reluctance as I prepared to get dressed.

I started with my black jeans, pulling them up with a 'hmp' as they hugged my thighs.

'You look like shit you look like shit don't do this tell her to go home this is bull fuck fuck fuck.'

I bent down to pick up my long sleeved, white sweatshirt. Sliding it over my head, I pulled it out in front of me to examine the design: A single fish, hook jammed in its upper lip with a set of scratches over its eye. Above it, the words "O my <3" were printed.

'You're an idiot you're an absolute idiot she's not into 'Mother Mother' you guys have nothing in common this shirt's gonna freak her out take it off TAKE IT OFF.'

I grabbed the doorknob, twisting it sharply. I walked out of the bathroom, heading back to my room so I could put on my converse. Our house never really had a problem with shoes indoors. It's not like Stan would've busted his ass to teach us house manors, anyways.

I swung open my door mindlessly and almost had a heart attack when I saw who was laying on my bed.