Mrs. Bakes slid the white sheet of paper upside down on my desk as she breezed down the rows distributing tests. I cautiously flipped over the paper, nervous to discover my fate. The small red C- on the top of the page burned my eyes. Disappointment welled up in my lungs as let out a long sigh. Chemistry became my new reason to inflict pain upon myself.
I sat for the rest of the period silent, with my eyes focused on my test. Mrs. Bakes new lecture turned into a steady hum in my ears. C- spelt out failure. And piled on with everything else, my conscious was plagued with worry and anxiety. My chest became heavy and my throat kept choking up. I felt angry at myself because I was so emotional over a bad grade, creating a painful clash. The best part was, my feelings were silent, leaving me with the gratitude of knowing that nobody was aware of the war inside me.
When the bell rang I bolted out. Passing periods were seven minutes long, which meant I had just enough time. After dumping my things off at my locker I went into the bathroom on the south end of campus, which guaranteed me privacy. Quickly locking myself into a stall I took a safety pin out of my back pocket and rolled up my sleeve. Taking the pin I began to make quick slashing scratches on the bottom of my forearm. After several scratches I finally saw blood, which informed me that it did hurt even though pain wasn't the word I would have used to describe the feeling.
My feelings improved afterwards. With a lighter conscious I wiped off the blood and strolled back to my next class. Still, nobody knew what I did ... or why.
Next period was English, which included Mr. Sansa. Since I was running late to class, I knew that Mr. Sansa wouldn't let me escape without making a scene. I reluctantly walked into the classroom, and awaited his reaction.
"Miss. Sharps how nice of you to grace us with your presence." He was about to finish with another remark before something caught his eye. While I was rapidly shuffling around to get into my seat I knew he had noticed something. I had forgotten to roll my sleeve back down. Panic swept over me within seconds, leaving me paralyzed in the middle of the room with my secret exposed to the world, or at least third period English. "What happened?" He questioned.
"Oh I had yard work yesterday. Those blackberry bushes can be troublesome..." It was a classic and very overused excuse, but it usually worked.
But I knew deep down inside that Mr. Sansa knew that those scratches were intentional.
