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PROLOGUE. a cut that always bleeds
(tw! contains self harm and attempted suicide)
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TICK TOCK . . . TICK TOCK . . .
The clock on the wall was all she could hear. That senseless ticking was the only barrier standing between the young girl and the deafening silence. That continuous tick of the hands on the clock echoed throughout the dark room, getting louder and louder with each aching minute that passed by. It had been fifteen minutes and twenty five seconds in total since the girl had locked herself in the darkness of her bedroom, locked away with nothing more than the ticking clock on her wall for company. Fifteen minutes and twenty five seconds since her explosive argument with her twin brother. Fifteen minutes and twenty five seconds since he said the deadly words he could never take back. Fifteen minutes and twenty five seconds since the girl fell back into old habits again.
Tick tock . . . tick tock . . .
The girl with olive skin, sleek black hair, her face decorated in subtle makeup that brought out her best features and hidden beauty, fell to the ground, her knees digging into the soft fibres of her carpet, salty tears rolling down her cheeks as she choked back on her sobs. She lifted her hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, smudging her makeup and wiping away the only the thing that covered her imperfections. But that wasn't enough to stop the tears that fell. The girl cried, and she cried, and she continued to cry, hoping it would be enough to erase the pain blossoming in her chest. It wasn't enough though. It was never enough. The girl knew she had to resort to an old method of hers, one she wasn't proud of. But it always did the job and gave her the relief she needed. She wanted to lose this disgusting weight on her chest. She wanted the throbbing pain banging against her ribcage to shift. She wanted it all to just stop.
Tick tock . . . tick tock . . .
She knew it was wrong. She had been doing so well for the past few months. She hadn't even contemplated doing it since the fight at school. There was even a small part of her that tried to fight that returning urge, that dark and harrowing thought infiltrating her mind and poisoning her brain into turning towards the worse possible option. Everyone who knew about her issues would be so disappointed. Her mom would be so upset if she ever found out. It would the ultimate betrayal towards anyone who gave a shit about her. However, she couldn't ignore the urge itching at her brain, like a careless whisper uttering sweet nothings into her ear, reassuring her that the unbearable pain in her chest would fade if she gave in to that unescapable urge.
