Page 36 of Scarred in Silence
He removes himself from me, staring down into the depths of my being. He kneels down in front of me.
“My perfect little Siren,” he says as he licks the tears from my cheek. Fucking asshole.
“Time to get dressed, we have to go,” he whispers against my ear, sending an army of goosebumps across my naked flesh.
I hope wherever I go, it’s far away from here.
Maybe he will take me to the ocean. I laugh to myself. If he is taking me anywhere, it’ll be to Hell—Where I would be silenced… forever.
13
Astra
10 Years Old
“Hi Astra, how are you feeling today?” My therapist asks.
My parents are making me go to therapy because they think it will make me more like Amara. They just drop me off for an hour every week, thinking it will cure their “problem child”.
“Fine,” I say.
“Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“No.”
The silence in the room is suffocating. I feel like I am drowning. Even if I do tell her, she won’t listen. No one listens.
“I just wanted to feel something. Pain makes me feel alive…” I admit.
She looks down at her legal pad and writes something down. I hate when she does that. I want to know what she is writing about me.
“You could have seriously injured yourself,” she says in a know-it-all tone. I hate her.
“I know.”
Her brows pinch together tightly as she studies my face. Looking for a hint of doubt. She won’t find any. I don’t regret what I did. I just know that when the razor sliced my skin, I felt free. As if all my words that went unheard, spilled out into the tub.
“We have treatment options for kids like yourself who struggle with self-image. You don’t have to go through this alone. Your parents care about your safety, Astra.”
“It’s not about self-image. I did it because no one hears me. Even you. I don’t hate myself. I just want to feel like I exist. My parents hate me. It’s like I don’t exist when I talk. No one hears me. No one will ever hear me.”
She pauses for a moment, writing something down on her stupid paper.
“Is that why you act the way you do? Because no one listens to you?”
A tear rolls down my cheek.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“I understand.”
The words ring in my ears like an alarm blaring. She understands. She doesn’t hear me. No one ever hears me.
My biggest fear is being silenced forever.
I know that cutting myself wasn’t the right thing to do, but it proves that I am alive. I am breathing. That means everyone around me is choosing not to listen to me.
I’m done with the therapist. She doesn’t hear me either.
