Girl in Pieces Read Online Free PDF

room.
    OUT. CUT IT ALL OUT.
Cut out my father. Cut out my mother. Cut out missing Ellis. Cut out the man in the underpass, cut out Fucking Frank, the men downstairs, the people on the street with too many people inside them, cut out hungry, and sad and tired, and being nobody and unpretty and unloved, just cut it all out, get smaller and smaller until I was nothing.
    That’s what was in my head in the attic when I took broken glass from my tender kit and began to cut myself into tiny pieces. I’d done it forever, for years, but now would be the last time. I’d go farther than Ellis had. Wouldn’t fuck it up like Ellis had: I would die, not end up in some half-life.
    That
time, I tried so hard to fucking die.
    But here I am.
    The music in my head makes my eyes cloud over. I can barely see Blue with her smarmy face and her fucked-up teeth but as I walk toward her, I can practically taste what it will feel like to grind that face into Group floor. My body is weirdly heavy and light at the same time and a little bit of me is leaving, floating away—Casper calls this
dissociation
—but I keep lurching in Blue’s direction, even as she kind of nervously laughs and says, “Fuck
me,
” and gets up, alert.
    Jen S. stands up. She says, “Please, don’t.”
    On the street, where I used to live, I called it my street feeling. It’s like electrical wire is strung tight through my whole body. It meant I could ball my fists and fight for the forgotten sleeping bag by the river against two older women. It meant I could do a lot of things just to make it through the night to another endless day of walking, walking, walking.
    Casper’s voice is even and clear. “Charlie. Another altercation and I cannot help you.”
    I stop short. Charlie. Charlie Davis.
Charlotte,
Evan said, his eyes shiny, drunk, smears of my blood on his cheek, that night in the attic.
What a beautiful name.
He kissed my head, over and over.
Please don’t leave us, Charlotte.
    My father taught me to tell time by telling me how much time was left. “The long hand is here, and the short hand is here. When the short hand is
here,
and the long hand
here,
then it is time for Mama to come home.” He lit a cigarette, pleased with himself, and rocked in his chair.
    The hands on the wall clock in Group tell me it’s time to get my bandages off.
    I lurch, the stupid bootie catching on the rug, until I reach the door. I let it slam shut behind me.

It’s one of the day nurses, Vinnie, who does it, his big hands chapped and methodical. It’s chilly in the Care room and very neat. Paper crinkles beneath me as I settle on the table. I look at the glass jars filled with tall Q-tips, the bottles of alcohol, the neatly labeled drawers. Vinnie has a silver tray all ready with scissors, tweezers, clips, and creams.
    He pauses before he begins unpeeling the pads on my arms. “You want someone here? Doc Stinson’s done with Group in fifteen minutes.” He means Casper.
    He gives me his special smile, the one where he opens his mouth and bares all his teeth. Each tooth is framed, like a painting or a photograph, in gold. I have a sudden urge to touch one of those shining teeth.
    Vinnie laughs. “You like my sweet teeth? It cost a lot to get this smile, but it cost a lot to
get
this smile, if you know what I mean. You want the doctor or not?”
    I shake my head,
No
.
    “Yeah, that’s right. You a tough girl, Davis.”
    Carefully, he unwinds the gauze from each arm. He strips the long pads from my left arm. He strips the long pads from my right arm. They make a wet, soft
thwack
as he tosses them in the metal trash bin. My heart beats a little faster. I don’t look down yet.
    Vinnie leans close as he tweezes and clips the stitches. He smells silky and brittle all at once, like hair oil and coffee. I stare at the ceiling lights so hard dark clouds form over my eyes. There is a kidney-shaped stain on one of the panels, the color of butter heated too long in a pan.
    “Am I