Zariah hadn't eaten in four days.
She told her mom she was eating at school. Told Jasmine she had breakfast at home. Lied so much, it stopped feeling like lying. Her stomach was an empty drum—aching, hollow, angry—but her mind said, Good. You don't deserve to feel okay.
The cutting got worse, too.
She'd moved from her arm to her thighs now. Deeper. Longer. Cleaner. She did it in silence, with practiced hands, like it was part of her routine. She kept a towel in her drawer just for the bleeding. Tucked it between school uniforms and notebooks like it belonged there.
Jasmine had noticed.
"You're paler," she whispered during lunch. "You're shaking. Zariah, this isn't just sad anymore. This is... dangerous."
Zariah barely blinked. "I'm fine."
"You're not. I— I don't know how to help you if you keep pretending."
But Zariah didn't answer. She stood up and walked away, the weight of her silence dragging behind her like a shadow.
That night, the thoughts came back harder than ever. Louder. Heavier.
"You're broken."
"You ruin everything."
"You'll never be normal."
"You should just disappear."
She opened the medicine cabinet again. Not the Tylenol this time—something stronger. Her hands didn't shake anymore. Her heartbeat didn't race. She was calm. Empty.
"This will fix it," she thought. "It'll finally stop hurting."
She filled a glass of water. Sat on the bathroom floor. Counted the pills.
One.
Two.
Three—
"Zariah?!"
The door burst open so hard it slammed into the wall. Jasmine stood there, out of breath, wide-eyed, her voice cracking. "Put it down."
Zariah froze.
"How—"
"You weren't answering. I begged your mom to let me check on you. She's not home. I used the key under the mat."
Jasmine dropped to her knees, gently taking the bottle from her hand. Her voice trembled. "Please... don't do this."
Zariah started crying. Not loud. Not messy. Just slow, steady tears like rain off a roof. She leaned into Jasmine's arms, shaking.
"I'm tired, Jaz," she whispered. "I don't want to be here anymore."
Jasmine held her tighter. "Then we'll be tired together. But you're not leaving me. Not like this."
They stayed on that cold bathroom floor for hours. No one else knew. Not her mom. Not the school. Just Jasmine. Just Zariah. Just the silence between them, soaked in truth and heartbreak.
And for now... that was enough to keep her breathing.