บท 5: Knives

My good mood after talking to Kara dissipates quickly, leaving me feeling miserable. If all my days are going to be like this, I don't want to live.

I wake up the next day after a night of fretful dreams to my alarm. Kara, as usual, messages me before the blurriness has even gone out of my eyes. As much as I like Kara, she can be annoying with her punctuality. I decide to message her back after a quick shower – I feel really sluggish – and a coffee.

My eyes drift over to the knife on my counter as I'm sipping on my coffee. My brain gives me a funny vision – the knife and my countertop covered in blood. From what, I don't know. Knives have always been my favorite weapons. They're lightweight, easy to wield and sharp.

I blink to get the vision out of my eyes and sigh. I've always been weird like this. Every time I see something dangerous, I have to physically hold myself back from trying it. I read somewhere that it's natural for your brain to envision what will happen if you try a dangerous thing – that it is just a reaction from your brain reminding you how easily you can get hurt. It's strange, but I like it.

My phone lets out that annoying siren sound again. I remind myself for the thousandth time that I have to change my notification sound and automatically reach out for it. Kara's messaging me again. I push the phone back and slump down in my chair.

Will I always feel like this about Kara? I don't like myself moping around my apartment just because the girl I like possibly doesn't like me back. I get barely any work done, and it's already been more than a week since I've realized my feelings for her. Feeling miserable all the time doesn't help. I should just tell her…

I wince as I imagine her possible reactions. Her yelling at me, her detaching herself from me, ending our friendship. I've gotten a little feel about what her parents are like from all the times she's touched upon them, and I understand that they probably won't approve of their daughter being gay. If I confess and if she accepts, I'll be ruining her relationship with her parents.

My eyes drift over to the knife again, but this time it feels as if something is pulling my gaze towards it. I sip my coffee and stare at the contours of the knife. So delicate, yet so cruel. It's beautiful.

My brain gives me another vision – me cutting myself. I've done it before, during that period where my parents kicked me out, but I stopped after a month or so. My depression lowered the quality of my videos and made Kara upset, too, even though I never told her about it. I could try it again…?

I can see it. I can see myself pulling back my sweatshirt sleeve, the knife sliding into my smooth flesh, the blood running down the wound. I can imagine the sweet relief it would bring me. In my mind, the knife cuts my flesh again. And again. If I start, I won't be able to stop.

I get up from my chair and march over to the counter, setting my cup of coffee down. Stupid knife sitting there, taunting me with its shiny surface and sharpness. I won't. I won't submit to it. I grab the handle and shove it into a drawer, collapsing back into my chair, taking long breaths as if I've actually cut myself.

The siren sounds again. I down the rest of my coffee and pick my phone up to yell at Kara for messaging me continuously. But her most recent message brings me up short.

Kara: when are you going to tell me about yourself?

Tell her about myself? Me and Kara made a sort of a pact two years ago that we wouldn't tell each other about ourselves, just to get a bit of a surprise if we ever decided to meet up. Then why is she asking me now?

You: why?

Kara: was curious. I know about the pact we made and all, but it's been long enough

You: well then, you tell me about yourself first and I'll do the same.

I'm actually scared about how she'll react if I tell her about myself. I had a lot of shit going on a while back, and then my mother kicked me out, and now this is happening. I stare at the three dots at the bottom of the screen which indicate that she's typing

Kara: fine. But you have to tell me about yourself later, no cheating.

I take a deep breath. She won't judge me, she won't judge me, she won't judge me.

You: cross my heart and hope to die

Kara: lmao ok. Uhh where do I start?

You: history I guess?

She begins telling me about where she was born – Houston, Texas, I had no idea she lived in the literal same city as me – and a little about her ex-boyfriends and school experience. In all, just an ordinary life with parents who love her beyond anything. Lucky.

Kara: your turn :)

You: okay. Here we fucking go.

Kara: lANGUAGE

I take another deep breath, and start. I'm glad that I'm just texting her instead of calling. I wouldn't know how to start or even where to start if we were on a call.

I begin from the, well, beginning. I loved my dad. I hated my mother. I was pretty sure she hated me back too. I recall all the things that my dad would do for me – take me out for dessert every night, find time to read me a bedtime story even though he was always so busy in his work, defend me from my mother's endless tirades. Then the car accident came that took my dad's life. I remember refusing to get into a car for years after that. A year later, my mother married my stepfather. I could see him trying hard to like me and to get me to like him, but my stubborn self simply refused. Then when I graduated from high school, my mother and my stepfather started applying for colleges on my behalf, but I refused to do that too. I wanted to continue with my pretty successful YouTube channel, but they disapproved. When I said that I wouldn't go to college, they kicked me out saying 'You can care for yourself if you care about your silly channel that much'.

I receive no reply from Kara for a minute or so, and I wonder if she went offline, unable to stand my ranting. But no, her status still shows 'online', and I can see her typing, then stop, then start typing again.

Kara: I seriously dont know what to say

You: aha, thought so.

Inside, I'm sweating. I made sure to exclude my depression and my homosexual signs, but I feel like she's still judging me. Then I give myself an internal slap and tell myself, 'If Kara judges me because of my mother, she's a terrible friend.'

But she doesn't. She seems to sympathize. No, she seems to understand.