Shut Up, Padfoot!

62

Peter
tw: signs of self harm, suicidal thoughts

Why wasn't I there?

Of all times, I wasn't there. I saw her lying on the ground and I left. I didn't hear her whisper her goodbyes. I went into the crowd and didn't come back until I watched her limp body on the carrier. White sheet covering her face.

I saw the knife, I saw the hand, I saw the person. I didn't see the face, I didn't see the blood, I didn't see her eyes.

In her last moments, I disappeared.

I can imagine the pain she felt when the knife twisted and pulled out. Find myself clutching my side and running my fingers over the area.

Blankly, my eyes flit to the bloody razor blade on the edge of the sink. My hands trembled, splatters of red running down my wrist and into my palm. The curl of my fingers dribbled with the substance.

I swallowed hard, backing away into the wall. Cold tile sent shivers down my spine. Nausea overwhelmed my system and I lightly gagged. Guilt transformed into physical reaction.

Why am I here?

Why am I sitting here with my own thoughts attempting to off me? Breathing in a moldy bathroom with the past burned into the cracks of the floor, crevices of the corners.

Spiralling constantly. Repetitively. Daily.

Even when things weren't going well, life was okay. The last time I did something like this, it was years ago. Maybe around third year. The family was tougher back then, I didn't know how to deal. The scars still remain but new ones cover the white lines.

Whether it was the friendship or not, I stopped. But it's gotten harder. No one to check up on me. No one to vent to. No one to love and to be loved. The madness has unfurled and it broke out.

"Why couldn't you take me with you?" I hissed.

I'm sure they've all thought the same. Each and every individual who has been loved by the Cry Phoenix has grated to dust by now. They're non existent.

The faces turn to blank slates, crossed out and empty. Bodies just walk beside and across each other in the corridors. Lifeless conversations and dreary lectures.

Hogwarts has finally gone silent.

No more bustling around students. No more energetic first years to fill the void. No more light shining through the windows. The silence is boiling while her death lingers in the draft.

"Should I die? Should I cut my arm straight down? Will I be happy?" I questioned myself.

My body is already rushing to save itself. The blood thickened and stopped falling. Trickles along the edges of the cuts.

I hate it everytime the blade goes into my skin. I know I'm not supposed to do it. I need to stop. But when the blood is cleared, the bandages are peeled, I like the way it looks. I like seeing those marks and replicating the inside at the very least. The control has reawakened.

"I think it's finally time to go."

With my purely clear arm, I reached for the razor again. Swiping it from the side, I grasped it between my fingers. My back slid down the wall, settling on the freezing floor.

The corner of the blade tipped into the fold where the beginning of my arm begins and the end of my hand. I couldn't hold it still when I shook. The divot created under the metal.

"Stop me. Someone stop me. I can kill myself, stop me," I begged.

The blade dug deeper, just on the surface where blood would spill. It's my fault. I should've seen the knife coming earlier. Maybe that would've stopped her death. If I was by her side, it wouldn't have happened. Never would've happened.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

Tears formed at the corners of my eyes. My neck burned and a whimper escaped my throat. So goddamn weak. Can't go a day without suppressing a sob. Whining like a dog who's lost their owner. The worst part.. it's uncontrollable.

"Someone open the door. Just someone see me- stop me.. just see me, see me..."

Hunching over my forearm, I sobbed. Crying tears that can never seem to stop. Wondering when my system will finally stop forming them and run dry. Nothing's right with me. It never will.

I yelled in frustration, willing myself to go deeper but I can't force any movement anymore. My arm is already raw and fresh cuts adorn the surface above the vein.

"FUCK!" I screamed.

I threw the blade across the bathroom. It clicked against the other wall and clattered to the ground.

My chest rose and fell quickly. Can't even do this. The one option of escape and I can't even take it. No one can come into the bathroom and stop me. No one can tell me to live my life without pain. No one can do anything because there's nobody to care.

I'm alone forever.

Maybe leaving the people I love would stop gatekeeping the love others can give them. Maybe deserting them brings happiness to them. Maybe ending it all can half the misery of Cry.

I'll go on a new path. Find people that need me. Work for what I deserve. And I don't deserve a lot.

Or should I end it all?

The question goes back and forth between my thoughts of hope and my thoughts of concern. It's always going to be a consistent reminder every day of my life. Wish it would stay silent for some days but it is an option. An option that will always be there for me.

I wonder what she must be thinking of me. Might look at me with pity but won't be able to do anything about it.

Why am I ruining my image of her?

"So fucking pathetic," I murmured.

I can see my breath in the air. Winter has begun. Months have gone by. The worst has yet to come. Always was her favorite season.

-lana