The room was cold, dark, and hallow. The storm outside pounding heavily on the windows. A metallic ear piercing noise raced its way around the room, and into his ears. The room shook and blurred as he felt weak, and quivered. His legs felt like jello as he started to lose all his strength, sliding against the wall and leaning his back onto it. He felt cold, frozen, not even alive. The razor had been dropped onto the marble flooring, blood rippling from his arm and onto the dusty floor beneath him. He didn't land easily, as he felt his head hit up against the wall. He contemplated groaning in pain, but his vocal cords were too weak, they were too shredded from all the screaming and yelling he had done prior.
With all the strength that he could muster up, he threw over his left arm to try and grip onto his cut one. He didn't even know what he was doing. This is what he wanted, he wanted all of this. He wanted the pain, the adrenaline that would spike up through his system. He wanted the satisfaction of not having to give two sweet fucks about what he was doing wrong anymore. He was sick of it, all of it. With every remaining thought he thought, he tried to occupy his mind a tad bit. Maybe if he just let himself go, maybe if he just registered the fact that he was gonna die and no one was there to prevent it. Then maybe, just maybe, it'd be easier to take his last few breaths as well.
He sighed, taking a grain of salt with every word his inner critics, his demons even, spoke. But they already won this fight, they did. He thought he was going insane, but he could even hear the cheeriness laced within their words. He stopped trying to feel anything when his right arm went completely limp from all the blood loss. It was numb, but it still ached. There was no underlying message with this action, all he could say literally was that he had no choice. It was either this, or some fucking pill bottle that wouldn't end this living hell that he was riding through.
He knew he didn't have much time left, but he tried sitting up. But that action quickly faltered as his chest roared with indescribable pain. His head then fell back, roughly. He recalled hearing a cracking noise from behind him, but he didn't remember much. All he remembered was his head falling back, what felt like glass shards poking into his skull, and everything slowly but surely turning pitch black. Trapped inside his mind again. Cold, dark, and hallow.
YOU ARE READING
Give Me A Reason To Live
Teen FictionHe never knew what the feeling was, he always just pictured it. ⚠️WARNING!⚠️ This story deals with mature themes such as suicide, self-harming, and may contain strong language. Reader discretion is advised!