I shut the door and turn off the fan. I jump on top of my bed and grab the box. I rip off the tape and pull out a journal and bottle. It was a bottle of whiskey. I open the journal to the first page.
"I know you definitely do not want to talk to us. So write. Harlow told me you used to write. So do it. Please don't die. Please eat. Even if no one is there for you, you will learn that you are always there for yourself. Please get yourself fixed. Also I bought you something to keep you alive. -Fay"
The music changed into something weird and funky, so I put on a song that made me feel alive and regretful at the same time. Streets by Doja Cat. It reminded me of the last time I saw Harlow. The beat, the rhythm, the tone, it just reminded me of that day. Then again, I feel terrible for what I did.
I opened the whiskey and took a sip.
"Where am I gonna hide this?" I whispered to myself, "they already know about my ceiling fan trick."
I cross the hall to Fay's room. "Do you happen to know a good hiding spot?"
"As in what?"
I looked at her befuddled.
"For sex? For hide and go seek? For objects?"
"Well right now objects," I interrupt, "but I'm gonna need you to tell me those later."
"Uhm, there should be a screwdriver on the washing machine," she proceeds, "use it to unscrew the screws of your bed frame."
"Thanks," I yell as I pass the door frame.
"One more thing," she tries to get my attention, "nobody ever goes into the pool house."
I shot her a wink and headed to the laundry room. Once I got downstairs I saw my dad cooking dinner, as my mom assisted him.
"Dinner will be ready in 10." My mom shouts.
I nodded and searched for the laundry room. I assumed it was near the garage. I turned the corner. Nope. "Hey dad!" I yelled down the hallway, "where's the laundry room?"
"Uhm," he pauses to think, "on the left wall down the stairs."
I leave the hallway and cross straight. It was a skinny hallway slightly wider than your shoulders. The stairs are coated with dust. It creaks when I step. The basement was dark and had cobwebs in every crevice. I spot the screwdriver and run out of there.
"Jeez," I yell coming up the stairs, "when is that basement gonna have a glow up?"
My mom laughed. I skip to my room and do exactly as Fay said to do. I unscrew the screws of my bed and pull off the panel. It was just a big empty shelf. I stuff the alcohol in there but don't screw in the wood panel yet. I opened the journal.
I separate it into 3 sections. Trauma, Now, and Love. I open Trauma and begin to write.
"I remember when dad left, mom bought me a dog to make me shut up and stop crying. I loved him to pieces. I named him Beans. Beans was a puppy who desperately needed love and attention. He quickly learned that my mom was not going to dish that out. So, he was solely my responsibility. I showed Beans that my room was safe, but he couldn't tear it up. He understood me clear as day. I had just assumed that my mom would put him outside when I went to school. When I got home, I could hear Beans barking from what felt like a mile away. I would hug him and then hide in my room.
One day, my mom had enough of the barking, so she hit Beans with a baseball bat until he couldn't breathe. I tried to stop her, but she hit me too. Then, she realized it wasn't ok and kept hitting the dog instead. I sat in tears. When she was done, she went inside, I hugged beans.
"I- It's o–ok," I cried, "it's ok Beans."
He whimpered, I didn't want him to suffer, but he was far too gone to be saved. I grab a rock in my right hand. I kiss him on the nose and tell him I love him. I smash the rock on his head. I scream. I couldn't believe that I had done that. I cried and I cried. And my mom didn't give a shit. I bursted through the screen door. I charged at her. She was ignoring my antics dazed at the tv screen. I punched her in the face.
""WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT!" I yell with tears making a wet spot on my shirt. "HE WAS MY ONLY FUCKING FRIEND!""
I buried the dog in the backyard with the help of Harlow. (Or Daniela at the time.) I packed a bag and moved into Harlow's house for a week. My mom eventually wrote an apology letter, and I was forced to go home. That was when my self harm started."