I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you
But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide.
-Demons, Imagine Dragons

No, no, no, no. It's okay. They love you.

I try to calm my shaking hands as another wave of shiver flows through me. The bright light scorches the interior of my en-suite bathroom as the sound of my sharp breaths and running water of the tap fills the air.

Who are you kidding Ed? They don't love you. Your own mother doesn't love you. You are a disgrace to this family. What have you ever done for them except be a constant source of pain ?

I take another deep breath and hold my hands under my throat to steady myself. My eyes close shut to chase away those thoughts while praying that the pain I felt coursing through my veins stop.

Earlier, I broke a china plate of my mother's while doing the dishes after dinner which caused her wrath to be enforced on my physical being. In her fit of anger she cried out "Why do you this to me always?" Those words ring in my head now. Ricocheting and reflecting inside my skull finding no escape path.

She hates objects made of china to break saying "it is a sign of bad omen". Maybe it's because I'm the one who usually breaks them, not purposely of course. My hands were wandering due to a lack of appetite I have been feeling for a few days. It was a habit of mine, an involuntary reflex, where my hands dance with the spoon on my plate. It had to happen on our Saturday family dinner nights?

When she had said that, my mind had stopped working. I only remember blank until I found myself gasping for air in the bathroom with droplets of blood falling from my fingers. The blood is now on my shirt too, not having realised the bleeding didn't stop. I open my palms and look to see small minuscule pieces of china stuck to my right one. Must've tried to pick at the pieces. My eyes stay fixated on the the blood oozing out from the cuts. Deep dark colour shining like melted ruby in the light.

With a heavy gulp of air, I place the bleeding palm under the water after I take out the china pieces and watch the water be coloured. A hiss escapes me as the water forces itself in the cuts. The pain soothes me and at the same time calms me as a familiar sensation of numbing fills me. I take the bloodied pieces of china in my other hand and look at them carefully. The drying blood in different hues under the clinical white light enchanting me. As another wave of numbing passes over me, I clench both of my fists. Flares of physical pain shoots up to me calming my mental state. A sigh of relief overwhelms me as mental pain gets thrown over by the sweet relish of physical pain.

With a small sadistic smile flitting on my face, I shake my hands gently to let the pieces fall of in their bloodied state. There. I then run both of my hands under the water removing the blood for my mother only knows I may have got a light nick, not several inflictions.

Hard knocks break my sweet pain haze I was in blissfully drowning myself in.

"Eddie, are you still there? Get out of there."

Turning the water off and while staunching the water off from my hands by a towel, I open the door to find Daniella with a first aid kit. I snatch it from her hands before she could say anything and trudge up to my room leaving her with her wide eyed expression.

In the confines of my own privacy of my room, I pick my phone to see if there is any messages from literary agents or publishers. Compiling all my works in a book or two and sending them over to a publisher was one of the greatest thing in my life. It feels awkward and sometimes overwhelming when people identify me ,when I walk down any streets, as a poet they have come to love and read works of.

I shrug off my bloodstained shirt and open the French windows, letting wind come in as the cold yet again bite my skin. I have been doing this for quite sometime now, letting the cold pierce through my skin to connect back with reality. Once my body is cooled I sit on the floor beside my bed and take out the supplies from the first aid kit. My hands sifted through it bringing out gauze, antiseptics and bandages without my conscious thought.

I open up the belt of my jeans and pull out of it, finally letting the wind pouring in my room to encase my naked self in cool wind. With my back propped against the bed frame, I flex my arms to the dim light and make notes of the healing lines on my hand.

When Alexis saw the first one on my arms, I had told her it was a scratch I got somehow. Thank god for October's chills which allowed me to cover myself from head to toe.

I trace a fingernail over the recent ones on my palm and hiss when I hit a deeper cut. I clean them with antiseptic, relishing the pain every time it stung, and bandage them up for my mother's sanity knowing she saw the cut I got at dinner. After that, I attack my bandaged wrapped thighs.

Once Alexis saw the one on my arm, I knew I couldn't let them see this thus my leg bore the brunt of the consequences. She must've told Alexander about it but he never told or asked about it. I didn't want to lose the meagre friends I had even if I could tune along with majority of people in uni. I couldn't let anyone know about the demons I play along with in my twisted sense of relief.

Picking up the scissors, I cut through dressings not having the patience to unwrap them. Once the week old cuts kiss the air, I take a cotton swab bathed in antiseptic and vigorously scrub my thighs. The sweet eliciting pain, once the scabs formed gets ruined, calms my chaotic mind and the cool liquid seeps through the jagged cuts made with the razor blade. An audible sound between a sigh and a moan comes out of me as I stand up, my legs still aching from the onslaught of pain. This time I wrap them in thin bandaids not requiring the proper dressing.

As I clean up the mess of my night deeds, I lock the door and fall on my bed with a heavy head. I look at the sky that was visible from my bed through the window for a brief moment. Shaking my head lightly I wrap  the comforter around me as sleep's darkness washes over me, the last thought praying I get proper sleep tonight.

Proper sleep doesn't exist when nightmares come to play with my mind.

I myself am a bit conflicted with this chapter as it seems unpolished.

The significance of this chapter is the mood swings of Edward and to bring forth his self harming side to light. Thus it may seem rushed even if the conflicting emotions in him were well justified as this chapter bring it out. Until then

Love,
Luna