Jeanette felt numb.
And she cut deep into her skin, the sharp pain crossing over her, leaving a stinging sensation linger on her skin, she buried the blade deeper and deeper to feel the pain become stronger.
It was to remind her, to assure her she was still able to feel.
That night, she felt a little artistic.
Instead of cutting short lines here and there on her skin, this time, she guided the blade thoughtfully.
She didn't press hard enough for blood to ooze, but she could taste the irony taste on her tongue when she brought the skin to her mouth.
She made a few swish cuts, the thin red lines slowly swelling into white, thicker lines on her upper forearm.
It burned, it stung, it hurt.
And she was glad for it.
She wanted to feel it.
She went to sleep, putting the sharp object away and covered herself with her blanket, snuggling into her bed.
She fell asleep with a smaller cross etched onto her skin, stamped on her arm.
A cross, as to remind her.
Jeanette, God is gracious.
YOU ARE READING
Sharp Edges
RomanceWarning! The story contains mentions of self-harm, reader discretion is advised The story of Jeanette, a girl who met Oscar, found friends, fell in love, got her heart broken, fell and got up again.
