"Okay, I have to run to the dealership. There's a huge call to get on." My dad says. "I'm supposed to be getting some new products shipped in." He explains as he pours his coffee into his to-go mug.

My mom huffs and says, "Honey, it's a Sunday."

He walks over to the kitchen table and kisses her on the forehead. "I know, but I want to land this deal," His car deals are very important to him. "This was the only day they had open to meet with me."

"Don't be long!" she sighs.

"I won't. See you, Jay." He says and grabs his keys off the rack, then walks out the door.

"So, what are your plans for today?" she takes a sip of her coffee.

"Nothing much. Just homework...studying." That's pretty much all I ever do; she would know this if she was around more.

"Mh, that sounds boring." she bluntly says. "You didn't want to hang out with your friends?"

"No, no, I need to study." James and Violet did ask me if I wanted to go to the movies. I declined; I need to be alone today. I'm getting too caught up on things that are not important.

Plus, that little argument I had with Ryder really wore me out. I don't know why, but it did. I'm so embarrassed; I was yelling and crying. I know I looked horrible. I felt horrible.

I wouldn't be surprised if he went back and told everyone. He probably even added a few untrue things to what was said. "Well, I'll be upstairs if you need me," I stand up from the table and head upstairs to my room.

After I texted Caleb last night telling him I couldn't make it, he said it was okay, and I have to make it up to him. Just the thought gives me anxiety. I don't know how I'm going to do it.

Maybe he'll just forget about me and move on; I hope he does. There's no need for me to get involved with him. It'll just be a waste of time.

I don't do relationships. I don't have time for them.

It's just an added stress that I don't need.

...

I'm finished with my science and Spanish homework. All that is left is History and Math... and of course, English. The only subject I can't do by myself. I haven't heard from Ryder. I thought he would have texted or called me by now, but he hasn't. Should I call him?

No, I'm not going to call him; he was pretty mad at me yesterday when he drove off. I shouldn't call him. I don't want to; I don't especially want him to come over, after what happened yesterday.

Maybe tomorrow Brooks will give us a pass again. Ugh, I don't know how this is going to work. We can not just not do the work every time he gets mad at me, or I get mad at him.

I walk into my bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is up in a bun—I'm wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and grey shorts.

I look terrible, which is how I look every day.

I probably shouldn't judge the way I look while I'm in the house. I mean, it is a Sunday. This is how people look on Sundays. Right?

I'm pretty sure Ashely doesn't look like this. Wait, why am I comparing myself to Ashely?

I shake the thought from my head and open the wooden drawer from under my sink. I pull out the silver metal razor from school. The cool tiled floor touches my bear-skin as I slide down the door and onto the floor.

Why can't I stop? Why do I enjoy hurting myself? Why does it feel so good?

I'm asking questions I already know the answer to, Rachel told me, and I heard in group at the facility.

Mr.Dale said exactly what Rachel said, "Cutting releases endorphins so like drugs, the more you cut, the more your body will crave the feeling."

It makes sense because I like the pain. I love the feeling of relief that comes with cutting. When I feel the pain, I embrace it; sometimes, I do it because I know I deserve to be in pain. I've caused everyone around me pain, so it's only right I feel what they feel.

In one quick motion, I make three cuts onto my right wrist. As I embrace the sharp sting, I rest my head back onto the cabinets. I sigh in relief.

...

"Jayda, I just got a call; I have to go to the office real quick and deal with a couple of things. I won't be long." My mother walks over to the couch and kisses me on the cheek. "You'll be okay?" she asks.

"Yeah. Is dad okay with you leaving me?"

"Yes, I told him. He's okay with it. I left $50 on the table," She informs me. "Just in case you get hungry,"

"Alright."

She grabs her keys off the table and walks out the door. I knew it wouldn't be long before things go back to how they were. I made a couple of friends, and now they think I'm fixed.

I look back at the TV. I'm watching my favorite musical, Les Miserables.

I've seen this musical a thousand times. I swear it never gets old. I grab my history homework in front of me and start on it. Ironically, we are studying the french revolution.

...

The doorbell rings. I sit my homework onto the glass table and walk over to the door and open it. My eyes go wide when I see who it is. "What are you doing here?" I stare at the dark-headed boy.

"Well, you didn't answer my calls," Ryder says.

"Maybe it's because I'm ignoring you." I saw his calls; I just didn't answer.

"Why?" he asks, genuinely clueless.

I disregard his question. "Is there something that you need?"

"We have work to do."

This freaking project is the only reason I have to spend time with him. This dumb senior project has caused so much confusion in my life, and it's only the first week.

"Are you going to let me in?"

I roll my eyes and open the door wider, gesturing for him to come in. He walks, past me, and into the living room; I close the door and turn around. I look at myself in the hallway mirror.

I look a complete mess.

Maybe I should've answered his call, then I would've known he was coming, and I could've put on something a little more decent. I walk past the mirror and into the living room where he is; he's sitting on the couch with my Spanish homework in his hand. "What are you doing?" I snap; he looks up at me and smiles. I snatch the homework out of his hand.

"Haven't you ever heard the saying, a class that cheats together succeeds together?"

"Well, I'm succeeding, and I don't cheat." Succeeding academically, of course.

"Well, we can't all be perfect like you." He arrogantly says.

His wrong opinion of me makes me laugh. "I'm far from perfect." There's an awkward silence. I sit on the couch a few inches away from him.

"What are you watching?" He looks at the paused TV as I pick up my folder off of the table.

"Uh, it's called Les Miserables." I place my Spanish homework inside and flip through the papers, trying to find the rubric Mr.Brooks emailed me. I printed it off.

"What does it mean?" He asks.

"The Miserables ones."

"Why are you watching it?" He asks yet another question.

I look up from the folder. "Because I like it... I feel like I can relate to the characters, to some of their stories, to their feelings." I shrug my shoulders.

He laughs. "And what could you possibly know about being miserable? You dont look like you live a miserable life." His eyes scan my lavish house.

"Just because I live in a big house doesn't mean Im not miserable." I snap. "It's just a house.

He raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes. His phone rings, he pulls it out of the pocket of his black jeans. He looks at it, then blows his breath, and declines the call. The phone immediately rings again. He quickly stands up from the couch. Where is your bathroom? he asks.

Uh, down the hall,, last door on the left. I instruct.

He walks past me abrupt, I have to scoot back on the couch so he doesn't bump into me. He rushes down the hall.

By the look of irritation on his face, I'm pretty sure that was Ashely.