Vitamin E

I have three packages of Vitamin E on my shelf, all of them yet unopened. I stare at them silently from my bed, my mind blank. Through the window, darkness has long ago swept over the land. But one small light remains, the light bulb from my ceiling, casting shadows into the unlit hall. Everything is deathly silent, save for the occasional mew of a cat somewhere in the house.

It’s then a small tear runs quickly down my cheek. My mom wants me to use the cream. She tells me my scars will heal up, so one day I’ll be able to look normal. But will that day ever come? I glance down at my thin arm, covered by a large hoodie. I always wore long sleeves, no exceptions. With a hoodie on, I looked normal, and no one was ever the wiser, right?

It only took a glance one morning for that to change. I hadn’t worn my hoodie to bed. I curl my arms around my legs, refusing to look away from the blurred sight of my shelf. Normal. It was what I always wanted, right? So why couldn’t I take the cream?

Somewhere downstairs a machine turns on, a soft thrumming noise filling my ears. I pay no mind. If I was normal, maybe I’d have friends. People who cared who what I was doing to myself. No one knows, I remind myself lightly. Would those people I hang around even glance my way once more if they knew had I had done?

But they can tell, can’t they? Surely they can see through my loose façade? All they have to do is take one look into my eyes, and they’d know. They just have to open their mouths and ask one question. But no one ever does. Because no one cares about a girl who isn’t normal.

I’m twisted. Broken in half and sewn together recklessly. How many times had I told myself, ‘this is it. I won’t be here tomorrow.’? How many times had I envisioned my own death? Through the tears, my lips part in a twisted smile. The world has forgotten me, and I’ve got no one left to come back to find me. Hadn’t that always been my worst fear? Being forgotten?

It was just as bad as I always imagined it. My eyes begin to dry, and I can see clearly once more. I am the invisible girl I had always pitied, the lonely kid at lunch I had always wondered about. I am a tool no longer useful and carelessly thrown away. I wipe at my itching cheeks from the salty tears drying on my face.

In my mind, I pick up one of the packages, rip it open, and rub the creams across my wrists. I continue to do so every night for a year or so. And then I’m normal again.

Instead, I lean forward across my bed, reaching past the cream. I delicately pick up a pair of scissors, and slide up my sleeve. Placing the blade against my wrist, I smile. It’s not twisted; it actually appears normal. Then I giggle quietly to myself as I move the blade downwards, slashing open my skin. I watch a deep crimson liquid poor out over my pale skin, setting back the scissors in their rightful place. I rip my gaze away from the blood to glance at my shelf one last time for the night.

I have three packages of Vitamin E on my shelf, all of them yet unopened.