(Sierra's POV)
I hear what sounds like adhesive, like on a band-aid. Just the thought that I can hear things makes me realize how stupid I am. I can't even kill myself right!
The annoying sound intensifies, and I try to pry open my eyes. Even though the lighting is dim, it still burns. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust.
"Sierra?" Demi asks.
I shift my gaze to the side of the bed I'm lying on. It's my bed. Why am I in my room? What even happened? I open my mouth to ask what's going on, but Demi interrupts before I even get a word out.
"Don't speak," she commands, handing me a glass of water.
I down the water greedily, relieving my parched throat.
"You weren't out that long. I figured you wouldn't have wanted to go to the hospital. You're lucky I went through the same shit myself, or you'd probably be a goner right now."
But that's what I wanted.
"Nobody's home yet, and I haven't called them either. I want to hear your story first," she says while bandaging my wounds.
At least that explains the adhesive sound.
"There's not much to tell," I mumble.
"There has to be some reason why I can clearly see your ribs and why you look like a cat's scratching pole."
"You're one to talk," I bitterly mutter.
Hurt flashes across her face but soon vanishes. Regret and guilt stabs at my subconscious, but I keep attacking anyway.
"I don't believe your story on why you relapsed," I truthfully inform.
To be honest, it didn't really make much sense. I mean, the woman had been strong for like three years. Why did other people's opinions start getting to her again all of a sudden?
"Well, I told you the truth," she insists.
"I just want you to know that I have no reason to be honest with you if you can't return the favor."
Her eyes become glassy.
"They'll be home soon," she whispers before exiting my room.
She's definitely hiding something, but the question is what is it, and why? My head pounds as the confusing questions swarm.
Two blue gel capsules lay on my nightstand. Assuming that they're painkillers, I pop them into my mouth and swallow them dry while sending a mental thank you to Demi.
With a groan, I force myself out of bed and walk over to my closet. I have to find an outfit that will cover up this bulky white gauze. Once I find something, I grab the clothes and head to my bathroom, locking the door behind me.
I somehow manage to change out of my pajamas and into the beige colored baggy sweater with black leggings that I picked out. Every little move I make sends excruciating pain throughout my body.
How am I going to hide this from everybody? I've really screwed up this time.
Sighing out of frustration, I slide my feet into a pair of long beige socks and light brown boots. I finish the outfit off with a cheetah print scarf and a stack of brown bracelets. Before exiting my bathroom, I painfully yank a brush through my hair.
"They should be home any minute now," Demi says as I enter the living room.
I nod as the awkward silence falls over us.
"I-I'm sorry for being rude. You were just trying to help," I mumble, fiddling with my thumbs.
"You were right, though," she admits.
"About what?" I question.
She opens her mouth to answer but is cut off by the front door opening.
"Hey, guys," Dallas greets. "Do you mind helping with these bags?"
(Demi's POV)
I'm lying to everyone. Besides Sierra, nobody knows that I've relapsed, and I plan to keep it that way. I hate lying, and I hate that I'm returning to my old ways, but I can't help it.
I didn't tell Sierra the whole truth about why I relapsed. Sooner or later, she's bound to put the pieces together, but I'm hoping that it'll be later rather than sooner.
I had no idea that Sierra self-harmed. I guess I should have seen the signs. I freaked out when I saw how much blood Sierra had lost and how many cuts she had all over her body. I think she has an eating disorder as well; she's way too skinny. We're more alike than I originally presumed.
I locked myself in my room soon after my family returned. It's now almost midnight, and I can't sleep. My skin is practically crawling with the need to self-harm. Not being able to resist any longer, I get out of my bed and walk to my attached bathroom, then locate my blade and strip down into my undergarments.
Go kill yourself.
Go die, you worthless bitch.
You're just a fat, untalented whore.
I slice the flesh on my hip as my demons attack me. With silent tears rolling down my cheeks, I continue to cut until both hips are nothing more than a sea of red. I clean up the blood, hide my blade, and put my clothes back on. After returning to my bedroom, I eventually cry myself to sleep.
ns 15.158.61.48da2
