by Mercy Amare
“It’s fine,” he says.
I don’t want to make it awkward, so I sit back down. I can’t help but feel really self-conscious.
“I was thinking we could eat junk food and maybe watch some Netflix,” Sebastian says.
I nod. “Sure.”
Sebastian comes and sits beside me at the head of the bed, and I pull my laptop into my lap. My blog is currently pulled up. I click off it as fast as I can.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Just... a blog...”
“Your blog?”
“No,” I lie.
“It’s cool. If you have a blog.”
I pull up Netflix. “So what do you want to watch?”
“I don’t know,” he answers. “What do you like besides Game of Thrones?”
Oh, right. I did tell him my favorite show.
“I like Supernatural,” I tell him.
“I have never seen that,” he says.
“Oh, my gosh!” My mouth falls open. “Then allow me to introduce you to Sam and Dean.”
I pull it up and turn on the first episode.
While we watch the show, I’m not really paying attention. I’m freaking out because Sebastian saw my blog. What if he looks it up and reads it? I say a lot of really personal stuff on there. Stuff I would never want anybody to know.
I mean, people read my blog. But not people I know. I don’t use my real name on it. Just Grace.
Part of me wonders what it would be like to tell somebody the truth. The thought terrifies me, but it would also be a relief not to always hide.
But then again, what if he found out the truth and never wanted to talk to me again? I’m pretty sure that would make me never want to open myself up to anybody, ever again. So, I can’t do that. Not until I’m one hundred percent sure he won’t freak out.
Why would he not freak out? I mean, it’s my life and it still freaks me out.
I am so busy fighting with myself in my head that I am not paying attention to my shorts. I pull at them, hoping that he didn’t see.
I look up at Sebastian and see that he’s watching me.
“What is going on with you?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you lying? And why do you keep pulling down on your shorts?”
“They’re just... short.”
Sebastian runs a hand through his hair and lets out a breath. He looks frustrated. Probably because he knows I’m lying.
“Will you show me?” he asks.
“Show you what?”
“What you’re trying to hide.”
I shake my head. “You would freak out and probably never talk to me again.”
“I promise I will want to talk to you again.”
My whole body begins to tremble. “Sebastian...”
“I pinkie swear,” he says, holding out his pinkie.
“Seriously?”
“A pinkie swear is a binding promise.”
“No,” I say again.
“If you don’t show me, I’m going to assume the worst.”
“It’s probably worse than what you’re going to assume as the worst.”
“That made no sense,” he says.
“I know.”
“Seriously, Jinger. I saw something on your leg. Scars...” his voice trails off. “Just please show me so I can stop freaking out.”
He saw.
Oh, my gosh.
What do I do now?
I swallow hard and pull up the left side of my shorts. Just a little bit. Enough.
I hear his sharp intake of breath. “How bad is it?”
I show him the other side. “It just here and... a little farther up.”
“And you do this to yourself?” he asks.
I nod.
“Verbal responses, please,” he says.
“Yes, I did this to myself.”
“How long?”
“I started when I was eleven,” I answer, being honest. He will know if I’m lying.
Besides, at this point, there is no sense in hiding the truth.
“Do you still...” his voice trails off.
I shake my head.
“Out loud, Jinger,” he says soft, but firm.
“No,” I say, my voice is shaking in fear. This is by far the scariest thing I’ve ever done in my life—sharing the truth with a stranger. I mean, sure, I do it online. But never in person. And never to somebody who knows the real me.
What is it about Sebastian that makes me want to spill my deepest, darkest secrets.
“When did you stop?” he asks.
“One year, two months, and five days ago,” I answer.
“Why did you stop?”
“For my brother. I knew that if I... died... he would be all alone.” A few tears fall down my face and I wipe them away. “I stopped the day I realized he was hurting just as badly as I was. I knew I was being selfish.”
“Jinger...” Sebastian reaches up to my face and wipes the tears from under my eyes.
His touch is comforting.
I have never had somebody try to console me when I was hurting before, and I have to admit that I like it.
“I knew you were hurting,” he says. “I just didn’t realize how bad it was.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything.
“Who have you told about this?” he asks.
“You,” I answer.
“That’s it?”
I nod.
Then I remember... he wants verbal responses.
“Yes. Just you.”
“Why did you start doing it?” he asks.
“I was in a lot of pain at the time,” I answer, not telling him everything. I’m not ready for that—not yet.
Sebastian doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, he just sits there looking at me. I think maybe he’s trying to read me.
Finally, he runs his fingers through his hair. “I just... don’t even know what to say right now. Or do. I mean, I kind of want to hug you.”
“I’m fine, Sebastian. Really.”
“And you really don’t... cut... anymore?” he asks.
“I really don’t.” I pull up the hem of my shorts. “These scars have been here a long time.”
He reaches out his hand, like he’s going to touch the scars, but suddenly pulls his hand back, like it’s a bad idea. Part of me is glad he didn’t touch them, because I’m not sure if I’m ready for that. But the other part of me wants him to. Does he think my scars are ugly? Is he scared to touch them?
“We’re friends, right?” he asks.
I nod.
“Okay,” he says. “Just... do me a favor. Don’t push me away because of this.”
“I won’t,” I say, then hold out my pinkie. “Pinkie promise.”
He smiles as he links his finger with mine.
The rest of the night, we don’t talk about anything heavy. We just talk about Supernatural and how badass Sam and Dean are. It’s the perfect night.
Sunday, September 8
You’re not alone.
It’s nearly eight o’clock at night, and I haven’t heard from Sebastian at all since last night.
Today, Brody and I went into the city, so I didn’t get to see Sebastian at meal times. And I really thought that he would at least text me or something, but he hasn’t. I can’t help but think maybe he’s freaked out by what I showed him last night. And I know now that I shouldn’t have. I haven’t known him long enough. I should’ve just lied and said I was in some kind of accident when I was younger. I should’ve refused to show him. Instead, I let him in.
I think the most surprising thing about it all is the fact that I actually care about what Sebastian thinks.
“You’re really quiet tonight,” Brody says, as we pull back into the school. “Did you have fun today?”
“Yes, I did,” I answer. “I’m sorry I’m so quiet. My brother hates that about me.”
“It’s actually kind of nice,” he admits. “Most gi
rls only want to talk about themselves.”
“‘Myself’ is the last thing I want to talk about.” Especially after last night. I will never, ever let anybody else in again. Obviously, it was a huge mistake.
My hand starts shaking, and I know that I am letting myself be overcome with emotions. I just need to calm down.
I want to cut so badly.
I need to write on my blog. That’s the only thing that will help this.
As soon as Brody stops his car in front of my dorm, I reach for the door handle.
“Today was fun. Thanks for taking me,” I say, then open the door. “See you tomorrow.”
I head inside without a glance back.
I feel sort of bad leaving Brody like that, but right now, I can’t think about that. Right now, I just need to think about me.
“Me” is the only person I can depend on right now. As much as I wish I could depend on Caleb, I can’t. He’s locked up in rehab right now, and he’s not getting out for a while.
As I walk towards my room, I am focusing on breathing. In and out. When I open my door, I am so focused on that, I almost don’t notice there is a person sitting on the second bed in my room.
The girl on the bed jerks her head up as I shut the door behind me.
She has fashion magazines spread out all over her bed and a sketch book on her lap. I can tell that I scared her when I shut the door.
“Hey. I’m Hope,” she says, standing up. “Hope Carter.”
The first thing I notice about Hope is how tall she is. She is about six inches taller than I am. She’s also thin, but not the she doesn’t eat enough kind of way, like I am. It’s more like, she works her butt off kind of thin.
Hope is kind of beautiful. She has curly red hair that hangs down to her mid-back and she has dark brown eyes. She’s also wearing a really nice outfit, considering she is just sitting in the dorm room. She’s wearing a pencil skirt that hangs just above her knees, a button up top, and a blazer. She looks like somebody who is about to go to work.
“I’m Jinger,” I say back, purposely leaving out my last name.
I guess she sees me looking at her clothes questioningly.
“I just left work,” she tells me. “Well, not work. It was an internship at Teen Vogue. It was supposed to end last week, but they needed me a little bit longer. I think my boss just wanted to keep me there as long as possible. Not like I minded staying. I loved it and can’t wait to go back next summer.”
“So you’re into clothes?” I ask, not sure what else to say.
I’m so awkward is social situations.
“Yeah, you could say that,” she says. “I want to be a clothing designer someday. Well, I sort of am a designer. I design and sew all my own clothes.”
“Cool.”
“I could design something for you. I love your skin tone and dark hair,” she says. “Do you always wear jeans? You have nice legs.”
“Thanks?” I say it as more of a question. “I sometimes wear dresses, but they make me uncomfortable. I don’t really like to show off my thighs.”
“So, you’re modest?” she asks. “I like it. Such a big change from the other girls here. I think you and I are going to get along just fine.”
I smile at her, hoping that she’s right.
There is a knock on the door, so she goes to open it. Brody is standing on the other side.
“Brody...” she says, shock in her voice. Then she crosses her arms. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m just... checking on Jinger,” he says. “When did you get here? I haven’t seen you around all weekend. I thought maybe you had switched schools or something.”
She snorts. “You wish. As you can see, Jinger is fine. You should leave now.”
Hope starts to shut the door in Brody’s face, but he sticks his foot in, to stop her. “Hey, I’m not done talking yet.”
She opens the door. “Go away, Brody.”
“Just let me talk to Jinger.”
Hope turns to me. “Do you want to talk to Brody?”
I remember in the car. I started freaking out. But then I talked to Hope. She distracted me. That’s never happened before.
“Brody, I’m tired. Can’t we just talk tomorrow?” I ask, trying to let him down easy.
“See,” Hope says, not kindly, “she doesn’t want to talk to you.”
She goes to shut the door again and Brody moves this time. Just before the door shuts, I see him frowning. I know that I hurt his feelings, but I just can’t deal with everything right now. Today was very hard to get through. I kept thinking about the fact that Sebastian wasn’t trying to contact me at all. And then I kept thinking that maybe it’s my fault, because of what I told him. And then I kept thinking about if Brody found out. He would do the same thing. And that scares me.
Hope turns to me. “Friend of yours?”
I shrug. “I hardly know him.”
What I don’t say is that I spent the day with him.
“Is he an ex of yours?” I ask.
“Ew, no. Brody Johnson is a womanizer. I swear he’s done half of the females in this school. I guess he’s after you now, since you’re fresh meat,” she says. “He’s too old to go after freshman now without looking like a creep.”
“Guess Sebastian was right,” I mumble.
“Sebastian Cruz?” she asks. “Wow, look at you. You’ve already met most of the school. Granted, the school is really small, but still...”
“You know Sebastian?”
“I know everybody here,” she says. “And Sebastian is a good guy—kind of nerdy, but nice.”
“Sebastian is my friend. Or at least, he was,” I tell her. “I think I made him... mad... at me last night, because he hasn’t talked to me today.”
“That probably has something to do with Brody. Sebastian and Brody hate each other.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “They don’t talk about it. There are rumors, but you will learn I’m not one to participate in gossip. Either way, I like Sebastian better than Brody. You should text Sebastian. I’m sure he’s not mad at you.”
I nod.
Hope goes to sit back on her bed and I do the same. I pull out my laptop and pull up my blog. I have a comment on a blog post from five years ago. It is my first ever blog post. I read the post, then the comment.
June 18
Today is a bad day.
It’s the anniversary of her death.
You know how everybody says the pain gets better with time? They lied. It’s been six years and it hurts just as badly today as it did the day it happened. Most days, I feel like the pain is going to eat me alive. Most days, I wish it WOULD eat me. Then maybe I could be with her again? What happens after life? Maybe she’s in some magical place, just waiting for Caleb and me to join her.
I’m screaming out.
Crying.
SOMEBODY. Please. Help me.
Anonymous: You’re not alone, Jinger.
Sebastian.
I jump out of my bed and rush out of my dorm room. I hear Hope call after me, but I don’t slow down. I run down the stairs and out of the front of the building. I don’t know where to go now. Which building does Sebastian stay in?
I pull out my phone and call him.
He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, Jinger,” he says.
“Which dorm is yours?” I ask.
“Parker. B27,” he answers. “Why?”
I hang up my phone and run into his building. A few guys are standing in the common room and they look at me funny as I speed up the stairs, but I don’t even care if I look like a lunatic right now.
When I get to his dorm, I don’t knock. I just push it open.
Sebastian is lying on the bed. He jumps up when I come in.
Thankfully, he’s alone.
“Ever heard of knocking?” he asks.
“Ever heard of privacy?” I say sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest. “Seriously.”
“W
hat are you talking about?”
“My blog. You read it.”
“I did not,” he says.
“Don’t lie. I know you did.”
“Seriously, Jinger. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
I pull up my blog on my phone and show him the comment. “Sebastian, you saw my blog. Nobody else knows that I have a blog.”
“That’s not my comment,” he says.
“Then whose is it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. But I promise it wasn’t me. Besides, I am not going to go read your blog. When you’re ready to tell me about your past, you will.”
I don’t know why, but I believe him.
But who else would know about my blog?
“Why haven’t you talked to me today?” I ask him.
“You were out with Brody. I didn’t want to bother you,” he says, then sits back on his bed.
“Seriously? That is how this is going to be? I have to choose you or him?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I guess.”
“But what if I want to be both of your friends?”
“That’s not a good idea. To be both of our friends.”
“Augh!” I yell. “Seriously, Sebastian. I told you things about me. Really personal things. Things that could get me locked away in a mental institution if my dad ever found out. And you’re sitting here telling me that I have to choose between the only two friends I have ever made?”
His face falls, then he looks up at me.
“I’m sorry. You’re right,” he says. “But don’t expect me to be nice to him.”
I roll my eyes at him, but I take it.
“So, you won’t just pretend I don’t exist if you see me with him?” I ask.
“I promise,” he says. “And I’m sorry that I haven’t talked to you today. I was just... so mad at you for not listening to me.”
“It’s okay. I forgive you,” I tell him.
“You should probably get back to your dorm soon. Curfew is at ten tonight instead of eleven.”
“Okay,” I say. “Why ten?”
“It’s ten on Sunday night through Thursday night. Eleven for the weekend,” he says. “I think this is their way of trying to give us a bedtime.”
I laugh. “Right. Well, I haven’t gone to sleep this early since I was a kid. I guess I will see you in the morning.”