I need him to explain what the hell he means.The first part makes sense; I was learning control over my body while my riders tagged along.He’s saying that he’ll drag me back from the brink if he has to, that he won’t let me hurt myself.Which hurts my heart, because that’s all I do—hurt myself someway, somehow.
It shows up in the lack of sleep, how I manipulate my medication to function differently instead of regulating and letting the pills do their job.It’s the lonely late nights in the gym where someone could trigger me.It’s facing classmates who want to see me fail simply because they don’t understand that my brain works differently from theirs.
Mr.Kensington sees tattoos as self-harm, but I know they’re the outlet.A source of relief that allows pain to escape rather than bottle up and threaten to eruption.
Klingon
I’ve watched you graduate high school.Start college, go on excursions with your dad, get your first tattoo, do all the cool things you’re now capable of doing, but I’ve also watched you break.Seen the way your eyes go vacant, witnessed you take one too many pills, and I won’t let you continue to do that to yourself, Sadie.I can’t lose someone like that again.
I remember typing a response to that message, confused as hell.And now that I sit here reading too much into it, I think I’ve figured it out.He’s not going anywhere—the dynamic has changed.He doesn’t see me as a damaged teenager anymore.Instead, he has his eyes set on a grown woman who fights for her life every day.He sees it all, watches me when I don’t realize he is; his stalker tendencies know no end.
Elias Sullivan is here for the long haul, ready to fight tooth and nail for damaged goods.
Is there anything to lose?I mean, this friendship…it’s coming to an end.What if he leaves, and I never see him again?God, that thought hurts.Everything we’ve had together up until Dad’s event will be replaced by an entirely different existence.Right now, this feels like a break up, like we’re cutting ties.Elias and Sadie, the two people who rehomed kittens and fought inside of a hospital room to first blood–breaking up.He’s the only friend I’ve ever had—losing him would make the world so much colder…emptier.
Patience; he’s making room for something more, child.
“Don’t say that.”
You’re not a little girl anymore.You’re a woman, one he sees with his eyes wide open.
“Stop talking.You’re not helping.”
Am I not?You’re surviving.
“Not with your help.I have to drug you to keep you from feeding me through a meat grinder.”
“Is everything okay back there, Miss Wilson?”Professor Jacobson’s voice drags me away from the argument I’m having with a demon—reminding me I’m sitting in a fucking classroom.And, apparently, drawing enough attention to myself that the students are smirking, waiting for me to do something spontaneous.
“Yes, Professor.Sorry for interrupting.”
He nods, returning to his lecture then switches slides on his power point.The next one has a video of a child sitting next to her parents, looking at the way she’s filled in coloring pages.I see myself in that little girl, confused and curious; simply wanting to be a kid but unsure why the sheets come out dark and scary.
“Psst.Sadie,” Chelsea whispers to me, twisted halfway in her seat with her entourage watching nosily.
“What?”
“Next time you decide to talk to the voices, do it somewhere else.We don’t want your crazy rubbing off on us.”
Liz swarms my ear, whispering taunts that find their way deep into my canal and traveling out of my mouth.
“The only rubbing you experience is scratching for crabs, you nasty bitch.”
Her snooty face sours, mutating when my words hit their mark—center body mass.
“I should’ve beaten your ass the day you ran into me.Taught you a lesson in keeping your eyes open and your fucking mouth shut,” she hisses.
“It would’ve been the dumbest thing you could do, and that’s saying a lot since you’re stupid as fuck,” I warn.
She goes to say something else equally as ignorant when Professor Jacobson chimes in.“Ladies, the course material is at the front of the room.I suggest you pay attention and not waste the last week before finals.”
Chelsea nearly combusts where she sits, getting a few more words in, which send me through the roof.
“Wonder how fast the Dean will block your degree when he figures out you’re the professor's whore.”
Don’t do it.Don’t do it.Don’t do it.
Anger fueled force bends the plastic of my pen in half in an attempt to channel my fury—and fails.Throwing it down, I snatch up my bag and reach inside the front zipper.My pills have to be in here; I always pack extras for when something sets me off and boy has she.
