MAYBELLA FERNSBY REMEMBERED THE FIRST DAY SHE SLIT HER WRISTS, clear as day. it was the evening her father took his last breath, leaving her mother sobbing and teenage may running out of the room with tears running down her small, puffy cheeks.
she went into their living space, grabbed a knife from the kitchen, locked herself in the bathroom, and used the sharp edges to cut lines into her skin. may liked the pain, it gave her something to feel other than the thoughts racing around her head that drove her crazy. may just wanted to feel something other than the painful memories, or her wandering thoughts that would helplessly consume her for hours at a time.
may continuously took the blade to her skin, and she did it for years, and it gave her a sense of relief, even if it meant she had to be the one stitching up her wrists and covering it with bandages at the end of the night. and though she had an amazing support system that would've listen to her call for help, she did it alone. may fernsby fought her battles alone, with nothing but her thoughts eating her up day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second, until she couldn't take it all anymore.
maybella fernsby cut too deep. leaving her mother to be the one discovering her, bleeding out on the bathroom floor, the igniting fire she had in her eyes slowly beginning to die out.
but she survived. and it was all because of the boy who happened to be walking down the halls that night.
the eighteen took in one breath, and then another, and once more for just safe measures. may stood just before a scalpel that laid still on the dresser. it had been so long since she had picked up a blade with the intent to harm herself, she was nearly two years clean, and she couldn't be prouder for herself, it was just that sometimes, she wishes she could go back to her old habits to relieve pain.
the ground had taken so many tolls on her and cursed her with memories that would be imbedded into her skull until the day she took her last breath. she just wanted to feel what it was like again, just once more.
"just once." she murmured under her breath, letting her pale fingers wrap themselves around the cold blade. she hated to admit that she missed the feeling, but at the same time she despised it. the metal blades she used are now the reasons her arms, wrists, and body parts are covered in white scars that weren't seeming to be fading anytime soon.
