I fucked up. I panicked and I fucked up.

"You know, it's almost June and it's getting pretty warm out... why do you always wear that sweater?"

What the fuck was I supposed to say to that bullshit? "Oh, I just cope by tearing my skin to shreds— I actually haven't in a while, but now I'm triggered and all of a sudden it's sounding like a pretty good option."

No, I'd never dream of saying that out loud. I just made up something about how I'm always cold, how I've always been that way— but she saw the way I was red in the face, sweat on my forehead and my palms. I told her I felt sick (which I did), ran upstairs, locked myself in the bathroom, and now my hoodie is off and in a heap on the floor, and my back is against the cool wood of the door.

The marks on my arms are nothing but scars and mostly-healed scabs. My eyes scan my skin hungrily, looking for a place to hurt, a place to cut, a place to punish myself for telling her about Emerald like I said I'd never do, for telling her anything at all, for ruining my case and winding up here, for existing in the first place.

The bathroom drawers are only a couple feet away. The razors are only a couple feet away. I need relief, I need the spinning in my head to stop, the self hatred to stop, the craving to stop. But mostly I need to stop myself from digging through this drawer with wide, wild eyes and a heart that's beating in my ears, shoving aside a hairbrush, old makeup I never use, a half empty box of bandaids.

Suddenly, I pause my rummaging like a deer caught in headlights at the sound of knocking from outside the bathroom.

"Evelyn?" Laura asks, jiggling the doorknob, "Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah, fine!" I call out, somehow keeping my voice from shaking despite how shaky the rest of me is.

"Okay. Let me know if you need anything," she says back, then, to my relief, I hear her footsteps retreat downstairs.

Slowly, I let out a lungful of air. A pink plastic razor sits in my trembling hand, an itching on my skin that I can't ignore. A longing to feel something aside from the pain that's coming from the inside of my own head and a sinking feeling in my chest. But my phone sits in my pocket, Gerard's contact waiting, but the pull to the blade is so strong.

Breathe, Eve, you're not thinking straight, I tell myself. I mean, you never think straight 'cause you're— not the time.

I slide onto the floor with my back against the door again and lean my head back, then take a deep breath. I find my phone in the front pocket of my hoodie, take it in one hand, the razor in the other, and tears blurring my vision.

I tap on the top contact and let it ring. The seconds go by like minutes, then finally, "Hello?"

"Dad?" My voice breaks and tears fall at the first word that leaves my mouth. Pathetic. "I'm- I'm kind of panicking, but it's stupid 'cause nothing even happened, but I still just wanna—"

"Slow down, Eve. This isn't your dad, it's Mikey. You called the wrong number."

"Fuck, shit, I'm sorry." I try and keep my voice level, hide any evidence of tears pouring down my face when I tell him, "Just ignore everything I just said."

"Are you okay? Do you need me to go get him? He's just in the other room."

I sniff. "Um, yeah. Well, no. I don't know." But if he knew that I'm shaking on the floor, my knees drawn to my chest, and gripping a plastic razor like my life depends on it, he'd be running to get Gerard.

He pauses for a couple seconds, then says decidedly, "I'll go get him."

I pull my phone away from my ear and call out, "Gee? Get in here!"

I'm not gonna lie, I'm scared. The last thing I knew, Eve was texting me about a situation involving Laura, and a few hours later she's panicking on the phone. Something must've happened and I know it's bad, because no matter how hard she's trying to suppress her tears, I heard her crying when I picked up the call, her sniffling and her the way her voice broke, not expecting anything but her happy greeting when I saw her contact pop up.

Gerard either didn't hear me, or he's ignoring me, so I get up from the bed where I'd previously been lounging with a Stephen King book, and go find him myself. I peek into his office first, but the desk chair is empty, so I head to the end of the hall toward the baby's room. When I hear his voice speaking softly from inside, I remember he said something about putting Bandit down for a nap.

I poke my head in. He's sitting in a rocking chair next to her crib, reading a book aloud to the baby who has already fallen asleep.

He doesn't notice me until I hiss his name. When he looks up from the book I quickly make a hand motion for him to come out into the hall. He must recognize the panic in my eyes because he gets up on command, leaving the book behind on the chair.

"What is it?" he asks.

I shove my phone into his hands. "It's Eve. She called my number instead of your's, crying and panicking and—"

He cuts me off with an, "Oh shit," under his breath, then puts the phone up to his ear, ducking into his office and shutting the door behind him. I'm left with my jaw hanging open, standing dumbly in the hallway because I want to help, but I have no idea how and I don't even think I can.

My eyes are squeezed shut, my lips pursed tightly to keep a sob from escaping. I regret picking up my phone. I could've at least referenced my list of coping mechanisms Bonnie and I wrote before bothering Mikey and Gerard. Or I could've given in, caved, accepted defeat and that I'm not strong enough to fight off my demons.

"Eve?" It's Gerard.

I can't speak. I'll break down if I try. It's pathetic. Nothing even happened. I was fine one second, then Laura asked a simple question I could've brushed off with a single smooth lie and it'd be over with. I wasted Mikey's time and now I'm wasting Gerard's.

My finger hovers over the "end call" button.

"Evie, please, say something."

I inhale deeply, as though calming energy might be hanging in the air I'm breathing, enter my blood stream and flood my brain. A high enough dose to keep me comprehensible as I sit here and try and convince him I'm fine.

"I-I'm f-fine." It didn't work.

"You're obviously not fine," he says as he listens to my cries break down every wall I tried to build.

"W-why is this so... so hard?" I ask, genuinely desperate for an answer that can make me understand my fucked up mind just a little better. "Why c-can't I just be normal and-and not feel like-like this anymore?"

"Hey, you can't be strong all the time. Feeling like that doesn't mean you're crazy, you know, it's just—" Is that slight panic I detect in his voice? He doesn't want me to hurt myself, or else he thinks I already did. "You just gotta hang in there for me, okay?"

"I'm trying."

"Whatever happened, it's not worth hurting yourself over."

"But-but nothing even happened! This is so stupid— I feel like I'm wasting your time."

"It's not stupid, I promise. I'd rather you call me than... than the alternative."

"So... what do I do now?"

"Well," he says slowly, "if there's anything close to you that you could hurt yourself with, I want you to put it away or step back. Can you do that?"

It's like he knows what's in my hand.

"Yeah..." Weak in the knees, I pick myself up off the floor and put the razor back in the drawer. I need it to be out of sight. The girl I see in the mirror when I glance up has tear stained cheeks and hair that needs to be re-dyed, bloodshot eyes and chapped lips, red forearms from running her fingernails up and down her skin. I didn't even notice I was doing it. I watch her say, "I- uh- I did that."

"Good job, Darling. I'll stay on the phone for as long as you need."

"Okay," I say quietly. The girl in the mirror's lip quivers. "I just really want a hug right now. From you."

"I wish that was possible, I really do."

And I wish I could tell him I was dropping in for a technically illegal visit in about a month's time. Raven and I figured I could show up for the fourth of July, knowing I could see everyone at their annual barbecue. Gee would probably be more mad that I was going against the rules than happy and try and stop me if I told him now. Raven and I guess that in the moment, though, he'll be overjoyed, and we'll deal with the whole "going against what the court ruled" thing later.

I swallow hard. "I miss you so much."

"I miss you too, Evie."

I've come to realize that it wasn't the goodbye part that hurt the most. Not letting go of that last hug, ducking into a car against my will. It's the flashbacks that followed, the happy memories that feel like hazy dreams, and every goddamn stab to the chest that they bring.

We stayed on the phone for over an hour. I didn't want to leave her alone until she was okay— or as okay as she could be— and when I do step out of my office I find Mikey sitting in the hallway. He's staring straight ahead at the wall opposite him and doesn't even look up at me.

I crouch in front of him. "Mikes, what are you doing?"

He focuses his eyes on me. "Is she okay?"

I sigh, seriously contemplating just telling him what happened— what's been happening— but I keep coming to the same conclusion and that is that I can't break Eve's trust like that. Still, I can't lie to him and say that she's fine when she's really not. "She was panicking and stuff at first, but she eventually calmed down. She's better now." I put a hand on his shoulder briefly, then move to sit against the wall across from him. "Oh, and, this is yours." I slide him his phone.

"She's a little better, but she's not okay," he guesses, taking his phone from the floor and putting it in the pocket of his black jeans.

I nod subtly. "But, you know, she will be. She's strong, and- and she's been taking medication and going to therapy. It'll take a while, but she'll be fine."

He breaks eye contact, leans his head back and looks at the ceiling instead, says frustratedly, "I wish there was something I could do."

"Honestly, me too. All I can do is talk to her over the phone and hope she calms down before she hurts herself."

Mikey doesn't say anything for a moment, then lowers his gaze back to me, his eyes slightly narrowed. "Hurts herself?"

Oh shit.

"Um, I mean—" I stammer. It's too late to take it back, and me tripping over my words doesn't help my case in the slightest. "She, uh, was- is struggling, but she's been doing a lot better recently."

"You mean Eve, like, physically harms herself? And we just... we didn't notice?" he asks thickly, almost in disbelief. In this moment he sounds so innocent it takes me back. He's my little brother, I feel like I have to comfort him, so I cross the hallway and sit next to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

"She will be okay soon," I say again. "I have no doubt about it."

• • •

bored

I'm getting bored again.

The fire has died.

The light behind my eyes has flickered and gone out.

The burning pattern I adorn is fading.

The tool I used to paint it has slipped from my fingertips

In slow motion.

Time is trickling to the last grain of sand,

whilst flowers grow through the cracks in the ground.

Crimson petals emerge from their roots.

The roots I helped plant.

And it may have taken a while, but good things take time.

The flower finally bloomed,

The ice and snow finally melted,

The cake finally baked and this was the icing on top.

I was never really one for cake though.

E.M.W.