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.