Class of Thrones

Savannah

“That was an excellent share, Chevron, wonderful and heartfelt. We are sending you so much love and care.”

We all clap for him.

Like every time we share.

Ever heard of Alcoholics Anonymous?

This is kinda like that except for kids who self-harm in one way or another.

And man does it come in different forms.

I know the first idea of self-harm is cutting down your arms or thighs.

And that is, but that’s not all self-harm is.

Even small things like knowingly not looking before you cross the street, or doing something dangerous not caring of those consequences.

The consequence being death.

Like living life with an “oh well” type of mantra.

An “oh well if I die” kind of process.

This is a group where you talk out those feelings and have a sponsor who, when you’re feeling like that, when you knowingly are wanting to harm yourself, you call or text and refrain from such things.

You talk about your last week’s struggles and what good you did.

Uncle Jonah started this up for me, registering me in the class when I came back from surgery and he saw the old scars along the tops of my thighs.

I was a happy kid before the car crash, before losing my family, but sometimes it felt like too much was going on inside me and the only way I found to get that out was draining it.

A little cut here and there made me feel like it was being bled out.

Was it really?

~No.~

Did it feel like that?

~Yes.~

I loved my body, I loved my life, I loved my family, I loved my friends, I was good at school and got along with every clique.

You don’t have to be miserable to feel the way I did, the way I do.

Life in general can feel overwhelming.

No matter who you are or what kind of life you live.

“Let’s see, Savannah, would you like to share?”

Mrs. Tanya directs her attention to me, the circle of kids around me all turn to face me, to pay me their undivided attention.

“Not really,” I grumble.

I don’t have anything to share; I’ve been doing good.

“It’s been a month since your last share, can you please open up?”

The rest of the group nods.

That’s the thing about being messed up in the head: there are others just like you, but none like you.

You feel like a misfit, but if you remember, there was an entire island full of other misfits…

You’re not alone.

It just feels that way.

“I don’t really have anything to share. Nothing’s really happened…er, my uncle wants me to paint my room like I had before, but I’m not ready, or want to.

“Some bitches at school stole my clothes, and I had to run out of the showers to the boys’ locker room in nothing but a shower curtain.

“Then I stole some asshole’s nasty sweaty gym clothes, who turns out is a biker prince and has this ongoing thing with my uncle.

“I returned it, obviously, but he caught me. And he knows who I am. He hasn’t done anything. But…I take none of his shit. Like I used to.

“It was kinda nice having someone to make me feel normal a little bit. Like who I used to be.

“No harm done on me, normal eating patterns, good temperature on the bathwater, making conscious decisions. All good.”

I show my arms and flash the crowd.

Another round of claps.

“That’s good to hear, seems like you have some things you might want to talk with your uncle about. Anyone want to give Savannah some words of advice or encouragement, want to issue out some love?”

“I would.”

The deep voice comes from the doorway; the click of the metal hitting in its place and the sound of bodies moving to look at the mystery man.

~Damon Henley.~

~What the hell are you doing here?~

“Welcome, we have already started, but come take a seat and share.”

Mrs. Tanya points to the round balls we all have to sit on.

Damon smiles at me, a cold and sinister one. I’m sure the devil himself must have gifted this fallen angel.

The silver metal in his nose ring, like a bull when it catches the light and glares off it.

The dark color of his eyes makes the reflection of what he looks at gloss over and reflect back like some dark mirror.

If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then Damon’s are tinted with black shades.

“Will you please tell us your name, then feel free to tell Savannah your advice.”

He looks at me, pinning me and smiling like a Cheshire Cat who killed the Canary.

A dark and twisted smile that may scare most people, but it was more like an invitation.

Maybe that’s not a good way to see it, maybe that in itself is a self-harm.

“My name’s Tate Langdon. It’s nice to meet you, Savannah.”

I snorted at his name and rolled my eyes before I acted like I was clearing my throat and took a drink of my water bottle.

“Nice to meet you too, ~Tate Langdon~.”

I smirked and immediately started to remember who Tate Langdon was and what exactly he did on ~American Horror Story~.

I’m not going to lie, I was one of the girls who would have killed to be Violet.

Not only was Evan Peters super hot in my opinion, but there was something about Tate I loved.

He was horrible and did horrific things, but Lord, was he something.

I actually fingered myself thinking about him once.

~Twice.~

~A few times.~

Okay, Tate was fucking hot as shit and for a while he was my personal crazy boyfriend who would sneak into my room or sneak into the shower with me.

I would wake up with his creepy obsessive self staring at me while I slept like some hotter, cooler psychotic version of Edward Cullen.

The only glitter he had was in his eyes.

It was an obvious fantasy, duh, but I would have let Evan Peters wreck my life and thank him at the end.

Especially as Tate.

“My advice for your...biker prince is to make it up to him. Stealing from him is a show of disrespect and that’s something he wouldn’t be allowed to tolerate.”

He shook his head and leaned onto his elbows.

“I ~already~ did. I gave him a thank-you note and a gift card for $40. And I washed, dried and ironed his clothes before returning them.

“It’s not like I knew whose locker I got them from, and I needed them. No disrespect was meant.”

I leaned onto my elbows just like him.

“Whether it was meant to or not, it was still disrespect, and a pretty little note and a gift card isn’t going to be enough.”

The smug look on his face was enough to make me want to slap it clean off.

I could feel something stirring inside me.

“He should be ~grateful~ and not some spoiled-ass brat, maybe he should give me a thank-you card for putting so much thought into his gift and get over it.”

His smirk widened into a grin, his tongue tipped out and licked his lips, making heat pool in my panties.

~What the fuck, vagina?!~

~How could you betray me like this?~

“Maybe you should think about how far that disrespect runs, how far he would be forced to go to rectify that situation.

“You should ask yourself, how far would he go? What would you be willing to lose?”

I bit my cheek and started to tap my foot.

“That is some...interesting advice. Would anyone else want to give any encouragement to Savannah or show her some love?”

Mrs. Tanya opened the floor up to the rest of the room, but it went unnoticed by Damon and me.

We stared at one another.

His gaze unwavering and strong.

He was confident in what he would take from me.

I had already lost my old life.

My mother.

My father.

My brother.

My old self.

My singing voice.

My smile.

My laugh.

My mind.

There’s no way in hell Damon Henley was going to take my uncle or my cousin.