Sleeve

"ARDEN!" my mom screamed from the kitchen.

Even though I would rather be asleep in my room, I knew this was urgent. I trudged into the kitchen.

"You know how I feel about others," she drones on, her narcissistic trait screaming, "but I know terrible things when I see it."

I stare at her blankly, waiting for her accusation to blurt out.

"I haven't seen you eat since Daniela was sent off."

"Harlow," I corrected her, rolling my eyes.

"Right," she mumbles rudely, "eat, now."

"Mom, that's not how it works."

"Then, Arden, how does it work?"

"Once you lose hunger, there is no getting it back."

"I'm going to have to send you to a facility if this keeps up."

"No," I scream, "I'll call dad!"

"I tell him to send you."

Tears form in my eyes. I rush back to my room. I slam the door, sliding down it. I wrap my arms around my knees and let the dampness from my eyes fall down my legs. I pull down my sleeve. There were a bunch of scratches and a few deep cuts. I felt dirty. Guilty.

The thing about starting up self harm again is that once you start, you feel guilty that you did it, so you do it again. The cycle doesn't stop. I could hear my mom shouting into the phone.

"I can't take care of her!" My mom screams.

"THEM!" I yell.

I wasn't taking it today. I grabbed a blanket, pillows, my phone, and Harlow's hoodie. I pulled the window up and kicked the screen. Carefully rolling past the kitchen windows, I snuck into the forest where we made our treehouse.

It has been two months since Harlow was sent away. School starts up again in 3 weeks. Looking at me, does it look like I'm in the right mental state to be going to school. I just want to be left alone.

I climb up the ladder. My eyes want to close so badly. When I get to the top, I feel nauseous. I grab my eyebrow skin and pinch hard. I have no idea why it works. I get really dizzy like I might pass out. I wish I would have brought food, so maybe I would get the courage to break it. My head hit the wood cold.