After years of being bullied, my body had transformed into a canvas. My brushes were stained red, my closet consisted of long turtle necks and floor length jeans. I could not expose my secret, even if it was a reminder of my past. People aways say cutters cut just for the attention. But I'm hiding it, I'm not sharing it. I'm your living proof, right here.

I wanted to be with someone who understood how I felt. Who knew the hardships of bullying, of suffering. But you can't just search someone up like that.

You can't just who you are when it's written all over your body.

But love, love was not written in blood. It was a unbreakable, undecidable feeling. Who knew that I'd fall for someone so different than I?

His hair was chopped just above the ears and he dressed to impress. He was cool, admired, and an earful. At first i thought I might just die if we had to be partners, but then, without any warning, he came for me.

"Lets be partners, Josephine." He said, clearly understanding by the blush on my cheeks that I was embarrassed. I nodded a silent agreement and lowered my gaze onto the single sheet of paper between us.

After three weeks of chating lightly, and a few days of getting to understand each other, I was slowly letting myself closer to him. I laughed at his jokes and found myself enjoying his company more than I should.

It was Friday morning when I walked into science that I got a major surprise. Here he was, sitting at my desk with a small box of chocolates. "Happy Valentines Day, Josephine."

But I was sad, you see, because I knew fair enought that if I did take that small pink box that I'd be letting myself into him. And I'd fall for him. Could he understand my fears, my doubts?