"I am not a stranger. 

No, I am yours.

With crippled anger,

and tears that still drip sore. 

A fragile frame aged

With misery;

And when our hearts meet,

I know you see. 

I do not want to be afraid,

I do not want to die inside just to breathe in.

I'm tired of feeling so numb,

Relief exists I find it when

I am cut.

I may seem crazy,

Or painfully shy.

And these scars wouldn't be so hidden

If you would just look me in the eye.

I feel alone here and cold here

Though I don't want to die.

But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside.

I do not want to be afraid,

I do not want to die inside just to breathe in.

I'm tired of feeling so numb,

Relief exists I find it when

I am cut.

Pain

I am not alone,

I am not alone.

I'm not a stranger.

No, I am yours.

With crippled anger,

And tears that still drip sore.

But I do not want to be afraid,

I do not want to die inside just to breathe in.

I'm tired of feeling so numb,

Relief exists I found it when

I was cut."

-Cut, Plumb

    "You would not believe your eyes, if ten billion fireflies..."

    Six o'clock already? With a sigh that sounds unbelievably loud in the silence of the house, I quickly unlock my phone and turn off the alarm before it wakes anyone else. Slowly, being careful not to make any noise, I get out of bed and assess just how much I'll need to clean up or hide before my mother wakes up. Fortunately, the damage was fairly contained last night. I simply flip my pillow over to show the clean side and adjust my blankets to cover up any stains. As I take a step back to ensure that nothing can be seen, my gaze happens to catch a dark red splotch on the left thigh of my pajama pants. And here I thought that it was a little better last night...

    I tiptoe over to my bedroom door and close it softly, wincing at the unavoidable creak. After it closes, I press my ear against it, paranoid as ever. When I hear a snore, I relax enough to go and get a pair of sweat pants from my closet. They are black and loose, which is the sole purpose that I bought them. I cross the room and stand near my bed, putting a hand on it for balance as I carefully peel off my bloody pants. Biting my lip in pain, I realize that I don't have enough time to be as careful and gentle as I'd like. It takes a moment of building up my courage before I can clench my teeth and just rip off the wretched pants.

    A yelp of pain escapes my lips on its own accord. I quickly cover my mouth with my hand, eyes wide, but it must be too late. I mentally scold myself for my idiocy as I hurry to put on the loose pants and hide the bloody ones behind my bed. Just then, the sound of rushed footsteps meets my ears. A sharp knock sounds on my door, sounding frantic. 

    "Are you okay?" asks my mother's voice. "I heard you shout, and it's early, and-"

    "I'm fine, Mom. I just stubbed my toe," I lie smoothly. "And, I'm up early because I wanted to have time to straighten my hair." Liar, I accuse myself.

    "Oh," I hear after a short pause. "Sorry, then. It sounded like you were getting murdered or something."

    I force a laugh. "Not today," I say in a good-natured tone.

    She gives another laugh before I hear her footsteps retreat.

    I throw on a t-shirt and take a deep breath, preparing myself to face the day. I push my door open, fake smile plastered to my face. "Good morning!" I trill to my father, who is sitting on the couch, playing a game on his phone. He looks up and gives me a smile more appropriate for a toddler: a wide, open-mouthed grin that would be much more fitting on the face of a yellow animated sponge than on any respectable human's face.

    "Morning, Hailey!" he squeals in a purposefully high pitched tone, messing up my name in hope for a childish reaction. Immediately I realize that today is going to be horrible, as my first thought is: Shut up already! Holy cow, I'm not five anymore! I'm fifteen, Dad, why do you still treat me like a baby?! Nevertheless, I give him a smile. Only when I walk away do I notice the shallow, crescent shaped cuts in my palms from clenching my fists far too tightly.

    I hurry away, ending up in my bathroom. This is always the hardest part of mornings, staring at my own face. I attempt to put my contacts in without using the mirror, which I manage to do eventually. Next comes my hair. While I would normally pull it into a quick, messy ponytail, I had already told my mother that I was straightening it... darn. I plug the flat iron into the outlet and brush through my terribly curly blond hair while it heats up. I absolutely hate my hair... its frizzy thickness is all but impossible to manage. After the long task of straightening it, I get started on my makeup, hoping to look even a little bit better. I start by framing my eyes, which are an ugly mixture of green and blue with yellow ringed pupils, with dark eyeliner. I thicken my short eyelashes with mascara and add a bit of color to my pale face with light pink blush. Stepping away from the mirror, I sigh. Unfortunately, it didn't help at all. I turn my head from the mirror and walk out of the bathroom without another thought.

    I shrug my backpack on and take my violin from my bedroom floor. Just the feel of it in my hands is enough to make me feel sick in dread. Shaking it off, I reclaim my mask. "Ready, Mom?" I call, making my way to the front door.

    "Yep!" she calls back from the kitchen. "Just making my lunch!"

    So, you're not ready, then. You should have said that you'd be ready in a little while, I think. Regardless, I keep my mouth shut. When my mother is finally ready to go, I hop in the car. 

    As she starts to drive, I pray that she'll forget about the radio. 

    She turns the radio on then, as if she could hear my thoughts. I wince inwardly as Human comes on. Hardly a second later, the sweetness of Christina Perri's voice and song are lost in my mother's quavering wail. "Ah cahn be, a good mashin', uf dat's what you want," she shouts, taking on an odd accent just for the song. I lean away from her, fingernails embedding into my palms once more. I don't know why her singing bothers me so much; drives me to the point where I want to rip my hair out and walk barefoot across a field of rusty nails. Clenching my teeth, I tense my whole body as she only gets louder. 

    I hop from the car gratefully when it pulls into Raven's Peak Junior High. "Have a good day!" my mom shouts, and I nod in response. I grip my violin tightly and hurry inside, both eager to leave the stress caused by my mother and nervous to greet the stress caused by my heartless school. Taking yet another deep breath, I push open the heavy wooden doors to the school and walk inside.