Chapter 47: "Shattered"
Zariah barely remembered getting home.
The walk back was a blur — just flashes of the ground beneath her feet, the echo of cruel voices ringing in her ears.
"Freak."
"Burden."
"You should've stayed gone."
Each word carved itself deeper into her mind than any blade ever could.
By the time she stumbled through the front door, she was already numb.
Not angry.
Not even sad.
Just... hollow.
Her mom wasn't home — probably working late again, drowning in her own struggles.
It didn't matter.
Nothing mattered.
Zariah locked herself in the bathroom and slid down the wall, pulling her sleeves up with shaking hands.
The scars were everywhere now, old and new, crisscrossing her skin like a road map of pain no one else could see.
She pulled the blade from its hiding spot, her fingers steady for the first time in days.
No tears.
No second thoughts.
She pressed the blade to her skin and dragged it across with more pressure than ever before.
The blood came immediately, hot and fast, pouring down her arm in rivers.
Still, she didn't feel it.
Not the sting.
Not the fear.
Not anything.
"This is it," she thought numbly. "This is finally it."
Her vision blurred as she sank to the cold floor, the room spinning.
Everything started fading — sound, color, time itself.
She closed her eyes, ready to let go.
Ready for the pain to finally stop.
But then —
A pounding on the door.
"Zariah!" Jasmine's voice, panicked, frantic.
Zariah barely registered it.
The door rattled again.
"Zariah, please! Open the door!"
Somewhere in the back of her fading mind, she realized — Jasmine must have followed her home.
Must have known.
Must have seen the signs she tried so hard to hide.
The door burst open a second later — Jasmine had grabbed the spare key from under the mat.
When she saw Zariah slumped on the floor, the blood pooling around her, she froze — just for a heartbeat.
Then she moved, faster than Zariah had ever seen.
"Stay with me, stay with me!" Jasmine cried, dropping to her knees, ripping off her sweatshirt to press against the worst of the bleeding.
Zariah's body was limp, her breathing shallow.
"I'm here," Jasmine sobbed. "You're not alone, Z. I've got you. I'm not letting you go."
She fumbled for her phone, calling for help with shaking fingers, never once taking her hands off Zariah's arm.
The seconds stretched forever.
Zariah drifted, caught somewhere between consciousness and the dark.
Part of her wanted to sink into it — let it carry her away.
But another part — a tiny, stubborn spark — clung to Jasmine's voice.
Clung to the feeling of someone fighting for her when she couldn't fight for herself anymore.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder.
Jasmine leaned close, her tears dripping onto Zariah's face.
"You're gonna be okay," she whispered fiercely. "You're gonna be okay, you hear me?"
Zariah's eyes fluttered open for the briefest moment, locking onto Jasmine's.
In that split second, she realized something.
She wasn't invisible.
She wasn't nothing.
She mattered.
At least to one person.
And sometimes, one person was enough to keep the darkness at bay — even if only for a little while.
Then everything went black.