FicWad

I pace my possibly temporary room, unable to sit still. I want to cut. Really badly. But Ronnie told me not to. And while I usually don’t listen to anyone, I know Ronnie just cares about my wellbeing. I know where Sophie keeps her razors. They’re in the bathroom, under the sink, hiding like a glittering sea of metal self-torture devices that bring as much joy as they do pain.
I can’t help but consider suicide. I’ll never be quite like Sophie or Ronnie. I still have no family to speak of. And who’s to say they won’t desert me eventually, like everyone else? I mean, normal people can’t handle me for long. They said I’m too depressing, that I’m an emo (whatever that is), that they just couldn’t take it anymore. I curl up in my bed, tears flowing down my face.
Suddenly I vaguely remember a sign in the youth room at Ronnie’s church stating that free counseling was available from the minister—whose name I can’t remember—and walk-ins were welcome. Sophie and her mother are visiting grandparents. Ronnie is at his mom’s house a few towns over. It seems to me that the church is my only distraction from suicide today.
I leave a note telling where I am in case Sophie returns early and slip out the door.

I remember the way to Ronnie’s church as if I’d been going there for years. It’s not a long walk.
The minister’s name is Braden. His office is just on the inside of the door. He smiles when he sees me come in. “Welcome. And you are?”
“I’m Lacey. Ronnie brought me here about a week ago.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember. Well, Lacey, how can I help you?”
“Sir, I uh…I want to die.” No turning back now.
His eyes don’t even widen. He sits back in his chair, looking at me, as if deciding if I’m telling the truth. Is that good? “Have a seat, Lacey,” he says. “We’re going to be here a while.”

Braden is right about being here awhile. He sits across from me for hours, asking me this and that, hammering out my feelings.
“Lacey, I think you’ve got a big mess of emotions that you’ve shoved into a box and you’re trying to get rid of that box by cutting. For humans, it’s natural to need an outlet of some kind. We have to find some way to get rid of pent-up anger and sadness, because no one wants to just sit there and let themselves be miserable. We have to find that sweet escape. For you, your escape is cutting.
“We’ve got to find a healthier outlet for you. Do you play any instruments or something?”
I shake my head. “I’m tone-deaf.”
“Well that doesn’t mean you can’t learn to play guitar. Come back tomorrow and I’ll have one of my friends teach you a few basic notes. Here’s my number,” he says, sliding a card across his desk to me. “I’ll see you soon, Lacey.”
I turn and leave, thinking, well that was a whole hell of a lot easier than I thought.

The next few days are good. I’m surprised at how quickly they go by. I’m at the church every day, I’ve gotten my own guitar, and I’m feeling better.
But all good things must come to an end. Braden cancels our counseling session because he’ll be out of town Tuesday. Sophie and her mother are going to yet another family member’s house and will be gone all day. I’m left alone with my thoughts—the one place I’ve always hated to be.
I try to drown it all out with the guitar, but I honestly suck at it now that I’m alone to hear myself play. I can’t relax the growing blackness inside of me, and before I know it I’m depressed again.
And then I’m standing in the bathroom next to Sophie’s room, staring at myself in the mirror, trying to stop myself from reaching underneath the sink and grabbing the blades below.