I've been planning this chapter for a while now. Every night for the past week, I would just lay down and think about different ways it could go down. I hope you enjoy it and I'm sorry if you get triggered in anyway.
William
It was a sad, rainy day. Even though spring break just started hours ago, I was already feeling quite down.
My sisters were all down stairs, playing a board game since the power and internet kept going off randomly. I denied their offering, just wanting to be alone in my room.
I already ate dinner, but I quickly threw it up once I left the table. I have barely eaten this week and the effects were starting to show.
My head ached and I always felt dizzy. If I sat up quicker than normal, I would feel nauseous and lightheaded. Dark bags were under my eyes and I was tired of using the, 'I just didn't sleep well' excuse.
Everything was just falling apart again this week.
And to add a huge fucking cherry on top of my depressing sundae, I kept thinking about Anthony.
Not about how much I missed him or anything, he could go to Hell for all I care. It's just I'm scared that Nicholas will do the same as Anthony did.
He'd shower me with love and affection for a few weeks before turning bitter. He'd use me and then find someone better. It's been on my mind all week and it made me stop talking to him much because of it.
It was close to midnight, and I was itching to cut, just to have some sort of relief after the crazy week.
Don't hurt yourself.
The voice in my head didn't sound like my own. It sounded like Nicholas's voice telling me to fight the urge. To just call him to feel better. To do something but harm myself.
Just do it.
The voice was my own this time.
Yanking up my sleeve, I scan my scarred left wrist, swallowing roughly at the sight.
I'm going to have these scars for the rest of my life and there is nothing I could do about it. You could cut your arm off. Or just end it now.
I shake the stupid idea away, grabbing the razor blade from underneath my alarm clock. Determination filled me as I pressed the blade against an old scar, already feeling the pain.
Exhaling sharply, I pressed the blade down into me, running it across my wrist. I hissed as the air made contact with the new cut, blood beginning to fill the wound.
I couldn't stop there, I just couldn't.
All the anger and sadness filled my bloody wrist, my mind spirally out of control.
Just another cut would turn into two more, which turned into three more. I was growing numb to the sting, wanting to see more and more of my blood escape. I wanted to feel more and more pain.
I grew angry, I didn't want to feel numb. I'm always numb. I wanted deep pain that I would feel for days.
I was too focused on trying to feel more ache that I didn't hear the footsteps rushing to my room.
