Read Blade Silver: Color Me Scarred for Free Online Page A

in the bathroom to
keep Caleb moving, it is exactly 7:23 p.m. when I start running water
down the sink. I quickly find my hidden razor blade and at 7:27 I
carefully slice into my right arm. About halfway up this time. It's my
second cut today. At this rate, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop.

    But the rush of relief is worth it. The disaster that is my family
just fades away and I feel that I have control again. And I can breathe
again. It's just me and my wound and my blood, alone in the bathroom. Why does this feel so good?

     

SIX
    CALEB NEVER CAME HOME LAST NIGHT. AND MY DAD ALREADY LEFT, I ASSUME
for work, by the time I got up this morning. The house is still and
quiet and, I can almost make myself believe, peaceful. But it's a false
sort of peace. A temporary illusion.
    One benefit of Caleb's absence is that I have the bathroom all to
myself this morning. I can shower for as long as I like. I'm careful as
I rub soap over my recent cuts. They're still pretty raw and sore. But
even though it stings, the cleansing feels good, and I imagine that it
will help them heal. I assure myself that I won't cut again today. And
maybe not tomorrow either. I remind myself that tonight is the art
fair, and this has the potential to be a really good day. I can make it
a good day.
    Because Caleb isn't around to pester me, I spend as much time as
I want in front of the bathroom mirror. I even take the time to blowdry my hair. And instead of braiding it as usual, I let it hang loose
down my back. Abby says I have the best hair. A deep, almost-black
shade of brown, it's thick and heavy and straight. I don't usually
bother to dry it since it takes forever. But today I think it may be
worth it. And, okay, I still remember how Kelsey draped herself over
Glen's art project yesterday, her blonde hair falling all over the place.
Not that I plan to imitate her, but I don't see how it could hurt anything to wear my hair down for a change.

    I take extra time to put on mascara, a little blush, and some
lip gloss. It's not much, really, but it does improve things. Then I
stare at myself in the mirror with any towel wrapped around me
like a sarong. If I stand far enough back and squint just a little, I
almost don't notice the dark lines and welts that cover my arms. I
can almost imagine they're not there. But then I open my eyes wide
and look. They are still there. Red and ugly and telling.
    Don't think about it. I go back to my room. Someday this will all
just be a memory.
    According to my radio, today's weather forecast is for "warm
and sunny, heading into the low eighties." Even so, I know I'll wear
a long-sleeved top. But today I pick one that's lighter weight. It's a
white linen shirt with shell buttons up the front and on the cuffs. I
got it on sale at Banana Republic last summer. Funny that I knew to
buy long sleeves back when I wasn't even cutting yet.
    First I put on a pale blue camisole that's got a little lace in
front, and then I layer the shirt over that, taking care to button the
cuffs. I don't want them slipping up my wrists. There can be no
cutting today. One drop of blood on this shirt will shout my issues
to the world. And since I plan to remain at school until the art fair
begins-I promised Mr. Pollinni that I'd help with setup-there
won't be time to come home and change in between. I decide to
forgo my usual overalls, opting instead for a short denim skirt that
I haven't worn in ages. And I go barelegged. One of the benefits of
my Native American heritage is that my legs have enough color to
pass for a tan even when they haven't been in the sun for months.
I promise myself, not for the first time, I will never cut on my legs.
I've read on websites that some girls cut all over their bodies. I am
determined not to cut anything but my arms. And I plan to stop doing that immediately. Today is a brand-new day.

    I look at my reflection in the mirror one more time and think I
look