How Can I Be
Wallflower stared intently at the always-too-bright screen of her phone. It was a cheap thing, and an old one at that. She'd needed a new one after moving in with Sunset, something Sunset and her friends were all too happy to foot the bill for.
Wallflower hated it, but she hated a lot of things.
Not the phone, she didn't hate the phone. It was a good phone, perfectly good! She'd never been one of those people who always had to have the newest release. So long as it could call, text and browse the internet, it was good enough for her.
She did sort of hate it, though.
She hated how she got it, anyway. It wasn't really hers. Then again, neither was her old phone, otherwise she'd still have it. Her parents made that abundantly clear when she'd moved out. That necessitated a new phone, but only because Sunset was so insistent about it, which was understandable. For safety of course.
Because Wallflower couldn't be trusted to not slice herself open if she didn't have a lifeline to her girlfriend at any given hour of the day.
So here she was, with her brand new six-year-old phone. All of Sunset's friends pitched in to pay for it and the plan, because Wallflower was too helpless and useless to be without a phone or even to pay for it herself.
However she got it, she had the phone. Sunset had told her about the difference between guilt and gratitude, but truthfully Wallflower hadn't been listening.
She was extra selfish like that.
She got a wonderful gift from her first and only girlfriend and her friends and she still had the nerve to be all pissy about it, because who was Wallflower Blush without something to be pissy about?
God, she was childish.
She sat motionless, staring at the phone as she waited for Sunset to get home from work. Counting the hours, minutes, seconds as they ticked up higher and higher, each one further away from the last time she did what she couldn't stop thinking about doing now.
Two-hundred and four days.
Six months, twenty days, twenty-two hours and six minutes.
All that time passed and she still wanted to cut herself.
Idiot.
Was it really that big of a surprise? The big difference between this unprecedented stretch of not mutilating herself and all the years before was that she was living with Sunset now. Her last relapse had literally been just days before she'd moved in, when she first told her parents—
Wallflower slammed the phone down on the couch and reached for a pillow, hugging it tightly to her chest.
Stop it. Stop thinking about that. What else would they have said? How stupid could she have possibly been to have expected anything different?
Idiot. Idiot.
Slowly, her forearm lifted from its death grip on the pillow. Wallflower's eyes traced up and down the rows and rows of finally fading scar tissue. Sunset said she could hardly see them anymore. She was either blind or a liar, because Wallflower could still see every single one.
Sure, they were definitely harder to see now, at least the smaller ones were. Those tiny indentions into her skin, invisible to anyone who wasn't looking closely. But the bigger ones? They were like a beacon with the way they split their way through the rest of them. They even caught the light different, like the scar tissue was weirdly reflective or something. A permanent and well-deserved reminder of everything about Wallflower that Sunset pretended not to see.
Wallflower buried her face in the pillow and whimpered. Why did she bother making a noise? Was it just for the benefit of someone who might be watching, because of course all of this was a long con of manipulative stunts and there was nothing really wrong with her and if she was actually depressed she'd have killed herself by now but instead she just—
Six months, twenty days, twenty-two hours, seven minutes and ten seconds.
Sunset wouldn't get home from work for another five hours. And her phone was dead because she forgot to plug it in last night because they'd gone to bed way past their bedtime because…
Wallflower hugged the pillow and shivered.
Last night, when Sunset had looked down at her, smiling that perfect smile, she told Wallflower she was so, so pretty.
Was she really about to make herself disgusting again?
Now was as good a time as she'd ever get. She could walk to the pharmacy across the street, get a fresh pack of razors and—
Six months, twenty days, twenty-two hours, seven minutes and forty-one seconds.
A familiar pressure built up behind her eyes. Wallflower twisted and curled up in a ball, pathetic as she was.
She didn't even need razors.
They had knives in the kitchen.
She had fingernails.
The shower could get scalding hot, if she really wanted it to.
There would always be something. She would never be safe.
Six months, twenty days, twenty-two hours, eight minutes and sixteen seconds and she was still overwhelmed with this stupid, stupid urge to do the one thing she wasn't supposed to want to do anymore.
Sunset wouldn't be home for hours. Wallflower still hadn't added Sunset's friends' numbers to her new phone either, despite them paying for the damn thing.
Stupid, selfish brat.
She deserved this. She deserved pain, she deserved to be hurt. No one was coming to save her, nor should they have to. Sunset deserved better than a girlfriend in a constant state of crisis because she was addicted to something as stupid as—
Six months, twenty days, twenty-two hours, eight minutes and fifty seconds.
Time kept ticking forward.
Wallflower stood up and rushed to the kitchen, leaving her phone and the ticking timer behind. She tore through the drawers, looking for the pairing knife Sunset was foolish enough to trust her with whenever they made dinner together and the someone had to chop the vegetables. As soon as she had it, she sank down to the floor, the blade hovering inches away from her arm.
Sunset would want her to stop… but Sunset wasn't here.
If she were, this wouldn't be happening, because Sunset made everything better without even trying. Instead it was just Wallflower, and Wallflower on her own was useless. Hopeless. She deserved this. She deserved this.
Sunset deserved better.
The thought sparked something in Wallflower's memory, from a time six months, twenty days, twenty-two hours and some unknowable number of minutes ago. Back when her parents told her they didn't raise a queer. Back when she'd called Sunset in tears, and Sunset had snuck into her family's home after dark to steal Wallflower away. Back when her parents called her the next day, demanding she return their phone and nothing else. Back when they never bothered to say goodbye.
Sunset had kept saying something to her, over and over and over and over again as she drove Wallflower to her new home and swaddled her in blankets and held her as the tears dried up and the only things left were hollow, choking sobs and a wastebasket full of bloody bandages.
"You deserve better."
"You deserve better, Wallflower."
"Do you hear me? You deserve better than them."
"You deserve better."
Sunset deserved better.
Tears welled in her eyes as she huddled into a whimpering mass on the kitchen floor. The knife clattered against the faux tile as she dropped it and pushed it away.
Sunset deserved better… and so did Wallflower.
Eventually, she stood up and made her way to the bathroom. A shower would make her feel better. Nice and warm, but not too hot.
She didn't bother to check her phone, or the timer. It didn't matter if she did or not. It kept ticking up all the same.
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Can you imagine a deli where they serve self-slicing ham and other meats and cold cuts? Butchers would go out of business.
Wally should say eff-off to the plant bullshit and invent the world’s first automated black forest ham.
Somehow, quoting the whole thing and gibbering about it would seem to be in poor form, so how about...
How perfect is that for establishing? Like, perfect. Boom.
Powerful, painful stuff. Congratulations are in order for the timer didn't reset to zero.
I'm glad to have decided to read all the prequels along with this one, and seeing Wallflower's steady improvement in each one. And honestly, all I can say is that I hope there're more sequels in the future, and see that improvement continue to rise.
YES!!! Wallflower is getting better.
Every second more is another victory. Another ounce of worth granted to the self. Another wad of spit in death's eyeball. So you should take every one you can.
Birdhorse said it as well as I could. Every second is a victory.
Every extra day is another addition to your high score. If you've made it this far, who knows how much farther you can go.
Echoing the above: every second is definitely a victory.
Developing the above: it's excruciating when victory feels like error.
(Hang in there!)
One of the most poignant things about this series is how Wallflower's mind can twist even the good things happening to her (Sunset and her friends getting the phone, Sunset getting her out of her abusive home, etc.) into shame and self-loathing. It's really eye-opening for someone who hasn't personally experienced that kind of mindset, or who thinks that everything should be just fine once circumstances have changed for the better. You can feel Wallflower's logic, as flawed as it is, for how real it really is for her in these moments.
This bit in particular:
Shows how the bad thoughts can suddenly just spring out of nowhere, for no discernible reason, even after a wonderful, loving day/night prior.
I love the repetition in this. It's one of my favorite literary devices, and it just makes this story seem just as visceral as it should.
Damn... The usage of the clock in this story really drives the point home. Every moment is a victory. Every single one. Even when all you can do is just let time march on. That's brave and strong in and of itself, despite maybe not feeling that way at the time.
Whenever she finds out, Sunset will be very proud of Wallflower. Just as I am very proud of you.
I simply don’t understand how you keep doing it. The fifth in this little series of thousand-word one-shots, and you once again take us on a painful, unapologetic trip through some really dark places while at the same time making it mean something. But more than that, you say something different each time, and Safe From Myself’s message (IMO, of course) of ‘every second is a victory, even when it doesn’t feel like it’ is equal parts dire and uplifting.
The repetition of the clock is a fantastic theme, and helps to pace the story well through what could otherwise be a bit of a hodgepodge of intrusive thoughts. While ‘hodgepodge’ is true to life, the repetition helps ground it for an external viewer – good call.
The subtlety of the introduction is a fantastic start as well, now that I think about it. How one tiny spark of negativity can grow into this all-consuming fire that burns through Wallflower’s self-esteem. And, a very typical Scampy trademark by now, you say a lot through subtext – on the surface she’s monologuing about her phone, but we all know that isn’t really the theme here.
Finally, the ending just tops it all off. An interesting choice to have the tone remain unchanged compared to the rest of the story; it's still steeped in this tired, aching melancholy, even after Wallflower overcomes the urge to cut. There's no revelation, no magical spark of realisation that she's loved and should feel loved. Very in-keeping with your other works, it doesn't just get better.
That's real, and it hurts.
And yet, Safe From Myself differs from the rest of the Angy Series in that it does end on Wallflower overcoming the urge, which gives it... not an uplifting note exactly, but almost the feeling of reluctantly trudging on. For want of a better phrase, because I mean that in a good way. In fact…
Perfect.
Oh poor wall flower. I know it’s not easy battling addiction, but victory’s like this is always something to be proud of.
How do you keep hitting all these emotions perfectly? How?!
Stunning work. Sad, but also kinda victorious, you know? Wallfower has been free for half a year. Even if she still has the urge, she hasn’t acted on those urges at all. What’s more is that she resisted the urge to self-harm right now. Instead, have opted for self-care - a warm shower. And that’s a win.
On a related note. Scampy, that screenshot at the end. Is that a real app?
11147761
Yes, here it is on the Google Play store.
It's kinda simple, but concretely knowing how long I've been clean has been one of many things--this story included--that have helped me avoid a self-harm relapse for over 11 months now.
I'm glad you liked the story 🙏❤️
11147843
Been reading since chapter 1, and this is really good. I enjoy reading literature, even if I'm not that smart lol, and I really feel like this has some literary qualities to it. You've got a way with using strong verbs that bleed into the imagination of the reader, like, well like the memory of a deep regret. I think this is what a lot of what I end up feeling when reading your Wallflower stories, she's a character that's full of regrets. She regrets regretting.
Your portrayal of depression, and it's self-centered metastases, is Real as hell. You portray strong emotions of emptiness without being trapped by the folly of exploitation or melodrama. I think I'm a latecomer to the party, but I think you've got a talent for this sort of thing, please keep polishing it! I really admire this sort of fearless and 'dangerous' writing, at the end of the day, a component of all good literature is an emotional confrontation, and you know how to communicate the raw feelings depression can give you.
Take care!