I'm Sorry- A Slipknot Story

Chapter 25

I open the mirror and grab Arron's razor blades, taking one and sitting in the shower, guilt and hopelessness overcoming me. Then, I get some sense back and stand, dropping the razor on the tile floor and running out of the bathroom, up to my room and collapsing on the floor. I start crying again, but less trauma fueled.

Then, I stop crying. I think about what it would be like to cut, to feel pain that wasn't by Arron. By me, and only me. I shakily stand up and open a drawer, getting some old bike shorts and a t-shirt for lazy days out and changing. I walk back down the stairs and into the bathroom, tears still falling down my cheeks and onto my shirt.

I sit on the shower floor and look at the razor, the voices coming back.

'Pain is good'

'It'll feel good to open skin'

'Open your skin'

'Let the blood out'

'Let the anger out'

'The sadness out'

'The guilt out'

'Let it out'

I pick up the razor and hold it between my thumb and forefinger, looking for a place to cut. I lift my shirt and the voices disagree, telling me to cut my legs. I pull up my shorts and they disagree, telling me the shins. I put my foot on the opposite wall and cut short lines in my shins, shallow but painful. 

I grimace after a dozen and drop the razor, the blood running down my leg and onto the floor. The voices go silent and I let my foot down, standing with the help of the wall behind me. I wipe my leg off and wrap it in, well, wrapping bandages and secure it with a few safety pins. I stand and slowly walk to my room, sitting on my bed and looking at the wall.

"I'm such a stupid fuck," I say to the wall.

"Why did I listen to them," I ask the wall.

"I listened to my voices, and they won," I say to the wall. I feel a little light-headed, so I lie down and cover myself with the blankets Claire put on while I was on tour. Before I know it, I'm sleeping peacefully in my bed.

-morning-

I wake up to Claire and Corey walking into my room, both of them concerned about something.

"I just don't think she'd be able to do that," Claire says, seeing me awake. She rushes to me and feels for a pulse on the side of my neck, then my wrist.

"She doesn't have a pulse," she says. I take her two fingers and put it on the front of my neck, above the dip in the collarbone. She finds a pulse and sighs in relief, Corey raising an eyebrow in confusion.

"I'm fine Claire," I say, weak from the blood loss.

"You don't sound fine. Are you sick," she asks. Before I could answer, she puts her cold hands on my forehead.

"Why am I doing this? I have just as cold hands as you," she says, looking at Corey. He puts the back of his hand on my forehead and pulls it away, looking more concerned.

"She's burning," he says, Claire asking him to step out to the living room. He does so and she looks at me with concern, just like how Corey looked at me.

"Why is there blood on the shower floor," she asks.

"I thought about shaving for once and I cut myself. I wrapped it up after so I didn't open it again," I lie, Claire believing me.

"Okay. Let's get you down to the living room so you can be sick down there," she says.

"I just need to change," I say, her stepping out and closing the door. 

I get up and limp to my dresser. I change my shorts into black joggers, opening my door and walking down to the living room, doing my best not to limp. Corey's waiting by the door, tapping his foot anxiously. I walk over to him and he looks into my eyes, sensing something.

"I hope you get better," he says, pulling me into a hug. I let go and notice he cut off his dreads, leaving his other hair to grow more.

"You cut your dreads," I say.

"Yeah. I glued them onto my mask so I don't have to pull them through all the time," he says. They both bid their goodbyes and leave me alone, the voices coming back.

'Do it again'

'Get the razor'

'Wash the blood on the floor this time'

"No, I won't do it," I say, limping into the living room and sitting on the couch, putting my legs up.

---time skip----

I need to pee, so I stand and walk to the bathroom, closing the door and turning on the light. I go to the bathroom and flush, looking at myself in the mirror. I'm slightly pale, but I look fine. 

I get out of the bathroom and limp back to the living room, just sitting down when I hear a knock on my door. I stand back up and answer it, seeing the 8 girls from yesterday with covered dishes in their hands and thermoses filled with drinks.

"Can we come in," Chantel asks. I nod and they come in, setting their drinks and food on the kitchen counter and walking into the living room, sitting on the sofas. I sit in an open seat and we converse about things, like why they're here so quickly.