Sometimes Never Read Free

toilet seat. Spreading my legs wide, I looked for my old scars. I only cut over the old ones, no longer making new. It doesn’t really count that way.
    After I readied a wad of toilet paper in one hand, I ran the razor slowly across the raised pink skin. It didn’t hurt in the way I like, so I cut over it again, deeper. A thick line of red appeared on my inner thigh and it was the best feeling in the world. As it started to glide down my leg, I wiped it away quickly and moved to the next scar. I automatically went deeper, moaning with pain and pleasure. There were no band aids in Guy’s bathroom, so I pushed the toilet paper against my leg and pulled up my pants. I put the razor blade in my pocket and went back to my room to get the band aids I keep stashed in my underwear drawer.
    I am seriously messed up.
    Though I may have felt better, I could hear Annie still crying once I was back in my room, and it all rushed back. So I used my next coping skill. I acted like a bitch. I slammed my fist against the bathroom door and I yelled, “Hurry the hell up. You aren’t the only person in the world.”
    “Shut up , Hope. I hate you. I fucking hate you so much.”
    “I hate you too, you selfish slut.”
    I know she isn’t a slut . Not even close. I also know it is the last thing I should have said to her. But I did. I didn’t feel bad for her after she told me she hated me.
     
    And now, all I can think is… so much for not giving a shit . As soon as I saw Christian today, my body went cold with anger. I wanted to hurt him for hurting Annie. When he touched me with the same disgusting hands that violated her, I just lost it. I kicked him and didn’t stop until some dude pulled me off.
                  I could speak up. I could tell Mr. Andrews right now that Christian, being the douche bag jock he is, in all probability, raped my foster cousin. But I don’t. One, it’s not my place to tell Annie’s secrets. Two, I don’t think he’d believe me. And three, I just don’t even care about a suspension. A week at home, alone, sounds great to me. So I continue to sit here, glaring at the coffee stain on my principal’s yellow tie. It’s an ugly yellow. The stain reminds me of those ink blots. It looks like a turtle. I wonder what that means about my mental state.
    He hands me a pink sheet of paper.
                  “Make sure your parents sign that before you return Monday,” he says sternly.
                  I rip the paper out of his hand and look him in the eyes. “My mom’s dead and I don’t have a dad.”
                  His cheeks turn a satisfying shade of pink before he tries to backpedal. “Right, excuse me. I’m sorry. Have your foster parents sign that please.” We stare at each other for several seconds. He looks away first, dropping his eyes to his desk. “You can go home now,” he says as he tries to appear busy.
                  I slam the door on my way out.
                  “What happened?” Annie asks. She hands me my backpack and hurries to keep up with me. “Hey, slow down and talk to me.”
                  “You have long legs, keep up,” I say annoyed. “I got suspended for a week.”
                  She grabs my arm, stopping me in the middle of the hall. “I’m sorry, Hope.”
                  I shrug weakly. “Yeah, whatever. It’s not your fault.”
                  “You were standing up for me. It is my fault. I’ll take your punishment at home.”
    I sigh and look up at her. “I think you’ve been punished enough,” I say quietly. She flinches and I look away. “You don’t need to tell me what happened. Just tell me this, was I right to do what I did?”
                  She’s quiet for so long, I don’t think she’s going to answer. I finally look back at her and there are tears in her eyes. She nods her head