She didn’t know how to tell her parents. She had been doing this for a couple of years now and she hid it quite well. She hid a lot of stuff quite well; like the scars on her arms and thighs. How when she cut too deep, she would pull out the band aids and wrap it up herself for fear of her little brother, grandparents, or her mom seeing; meaning there would be another trip to the hospital.
Her name was Lillian. So far it’s been about four trips to the hospital. It should’ve been more, but no one could see that there was anything wrong. Only because, she wore long sleeves and over sized hoodies even if it was 90 degrees outside.
At first the cuts were baby cuts; little scratches so she could see the florescent red, flow out of her cuts and down her body as she loved to watch it swirl down the drain. Then they became much deeper, and there were more of them. As the days went on she did more day by day; even if they were small cuts, they still bled and she still wanted to feel that stinging sensation when the hot water ran over the cuts.
She had a reason behind all the cutting and all the times that she attempted suicide. She was raped. R-A-P-E-D; a four letter word that changed her whole life forever. ...