Skin (A short story) Warning: Contains some graphic descriptions of self-harm / cutting.
Site: KidPub
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He perched on the edge of the tub and thought about skin.
He curled his bare toes against the bathmat, trying to feel sorry for his arms, to feel regret, or pain, or sadness. But he was numb.
He stared at the scars lining his wrists, observing them as if from a great distance. Other days he would count them and their meanings; one for every time she'd hurt him or for every week he never came home and left his son to the agony of waiting, wishing. Every time he hated himself for lying. But it was so easy, too easy, for him to promise her had taken the antidepressants.
And now, feeling the scars beneath his fingers, he could picture it so vividly that he could feel each sharp intake of breath, each tear that slid from his pale skin. As the bathtub faucet ran cold water over his neck and the blade glowed crimson beneath his clumsy fingers, his head would tilt back, his mouth open in silent agony but also perverse joy, because he knew that he should not be feeling this, doing this, enjoying this as he did. And his anger exploded with each swift movement of the razor, his pain that so often destroyed him coating the floor of the tub in sickening contrast to the pale tile.
He remembered kneeling on this same floor, attacking his biceps until he could take it no longer and fell back, exhausted, against the bathroom cabinet. Because his muscles had never been good enough for her, had they? How pale and fragile his skin had looked - still looked - under these floursecent lights.
The urge was so strong that he clenched his fists to keep from reaching for the blade. It was so tempting. So painfully tempting. He thought desperately of his wrists again, aching to feel sadness for the delicate skin that he so readily destroyed. He forced his fingers to stay on the shining tiles, but so eager was he for the pain that his nails dug into the floor until the tips of his fingers burned.
He would stay here as long as he had to, until his hands cramped with exhaustion and the urge was gone. Because he had to fight this. Because of the six words he kept repeating in his mind, kept vowing, swearing to himself.
I will not draw blood tonight.
***
YOU ARE READING
For the Ones Who Need A Reawakening
Random// WARNING // *** SELF HARM AND REAL DEEP EMOTIONAL SHIT ARE IN HERE! *** " The Reason I harm my self isn't for attention, and it's not a phase. It helps the Pain that's running through me, and helps with...
