Chapter One – Abbi
You just need one.
One thought. One second. One impulse. One touch. A lot of little things – little ones add together, snowballing and spiraling into something bigger. A big one. But one all the same. And one thing is all it takes to change your life.
Irreparably. Inexplicably. Irreversibly.
It’s been two years since those little ones added together for the first time and I fell in love with Pearce Stevens. It’s been two years since I first felt that sweet fluttering of a first crush followed by the gentle thump of falling head over heels in love. Two years since the things that meant everything would fall apart, leaving me plunging headfirst into the dark abyss of depression.
If I knew then what I know now, I would have passed it all on by. Ignored the thoughts as the wishful musings of a teen heart, passed the time, fought the impulses, and shied from the touch. If I knew how the next months of my life would unfold and the direction it would take, I would have hopped on the next plane outta here and hunkered down in the Caribbean.
But I didn’t know – and there was no way for me to. How could I know? I never imagined those little ones would grow into a big one, and I never imagined they’d come back just months after I felt them for the first time.
But the second time was a darker thought. It was a black second, a swallowing impulse, a deadly touch. The first time I watched the blood drip down my ankle from my accidental shaving cut, the newly bare razor blade flat between my fingers, was a moment that changed my life just as much as falling in love with Pearce did. It was a moment I can never change. I can’t take it away and I can’t pretend it never happened.
It’s a part of me, just like Pearce is. A part of my past, and they are the two defining moments in my life. If you ask me where it all went wrong, I’ll tell you those things; Pearce Stevens and the blade. And I won’t be able to explain it for a second, no matter how hard you beg.
I won’t be able to tell you why I fell in love with my best friend’s brother, or why I didn’t run before it was too late. I’ll never be able to put into words why I didn’t pull off my rose-tinted glasses and see him for what he really was and is.
I will never, ever be able to explain what possessed me to make the first cut on my skin. After all, you can’t explain what you don’t understand, and sometimes it’s better not to understand.
I lean over the bathtub and watch the water run dark from my newly-dyed hair. The dark water swishes around the tub and swirls around the plug, disappearing from view with the same ease my blood did so long ago. I stay here until the water runs clear, shampoo and rinse, and wrap my hair in a dark towel.
Against Mom’s wishes I made Dad take me to the store to get the dye. She doesn’t understand my need to separate myself from the person I was last year. I don’t think anyone does, and it’s not something I can explain. I just know I’m not the Abbi I was before; the new Abbi is a different person. By separating the two halves of me, I’m moving forward with the new me. At least that’s what Dr. Hausen said. She also said it was a step in the right direction – something positive.
Positive is what I need. That’s why my previously pale pink, girly bedroom is now bright blue and purple. It’s positive. It’s different. It’s new.
Just like me. I’m shiny and new.
I sit on my new beaded comforter on the bed and face the mirror. My eyes are brighter than they were before and my cheeks aren’t as sunken. I touch a gentle fingertip to the hollow of my cheek and breathe in deeply. A clump of hair falls free from the towel, the almost black color a contrast against my pale skin.
I bend my head forward, roughly dry my hair, and flip it back up. My hand crawls along my bed to find my brush, and I run it through the strands. I don’t really focus on anything but the repetitive motion and I don’t think about anything as I start up my hairdryer, blowing hot air through my hair. It just is.
I don’t think about the fact the corkboard above my desk that was once full of pictures of me and Maddie is now empty. I don’t think about the fact all my teenage diaries were thrown out, that three-quarters of my wardrobe was re-bought. I don’t think about how much of the past I’ve thrown away. How much of it I’m running from.
But is it really running if you still have to face up to it every day?
I don’t think so. It’s not running away if you know where you want to be. It’s making the conscious decision to change.
I set the hairdryer down on the bed next to me and focus on the reflection in the mirror, sliding the brush through my new hair one last time. And I smile. I look nothing like the old Abbi, and for just a second, there’s a spark of light in my eyes. It’s fleeting, but there, and fleeting is better than not at all.
My door opens a crack, and Mom pokes her head through the gap. I hear her sharp intake of breath before I turn to look at her. Her hand is poised over her mouth like she thinks it’ll hide the way her jaw has dropped. Like she thinks it’ll cover her wide, horrified eyes.
“You… Why?”
I finger the dark strands nervously. “I needed to change it. It reminded me too much of before.”
“Why, Abbi? Your hair was so beautiful.”
My eyes travel back to the mirror. “Because the outside is all I can change,” I whisper. “I can’t change what’s on the inside, not easily, but this I can change. So I did. I needed to, Mom.”
Silence stretches between us as she lets my words sink in. “I don’t understand.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to understand. You just have to accept it.”
“I… I suppose there’s not much I can do, anyway.”
I shake my head again. My fingers creep to my arm and under my sleeve, the pads of them rubbing over the slightly raised scars there. The scars I keep hidden from the rest of the world. “It’s better than the alternative. Anything is better than that.”
Mom lets out a shaky breath, and I press my thumb against my pulse point as I always do when I remember. The steady beat of my blood humming through my body reminds me I’m still alive. My heart is still beating and my lungs are still breathing. I’m still existing.
“Yes. It’s much better,” Mom agrees and walks across the room before perching on the bed next to me. Our reflections are side by side and the only difference in them is our age. And our hair color. Her blonde hair is the exact shade mine was two hours ago. She reaches over and takes my hand as she meets my eyes in the shiny glass. “Is there anything else you feel like you need to do?”