Tonight is the Night I Die {Palaye Royale}

{•I•}

⚠️ Warning: mentions of blood, violence, assault/abuse, murder & self harming depicted in this chapter. If affected, please read with caution.⚠️

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{•Lynette•}

I hear the front door slam, making me flinch as I laid in the ground. Pain coursed through my body, blood soaking my hair as I tried to move, groaning in pain.

I managed to sit myself up, groaning as I leaned against the wall.

I should tell someone.... I shouldn't keep this to myself

No... No one would believe me..... They'd probably even think I'm lying.....

I took a deep breath and started to try and stand, leaning against the wall for support.

Once I mustered enough strength, I started to slowly make my way up the stairs.

I soon managed to make up up them and arrived to our bathroom, pulling my bloody clothes off, and stepping into the shower.

I sighed as I reached over, spinning the knob for the water and then let the water start to fall over me.

I yelped in pain as the water made the new wounds sting falling down.

I cried quietly in pain as I looked down at the wounds.

Bruises. Burns. Gashes.

The blood slowly swirled with the water as it slowly dripped from me and leaned my head against the cool tile.

My name is Lynette Smith. I live in Seattle, Washington, for as long as I can remember.

I don't really have much of a history... I was found abandoned behind an orphanage, not even a name to depend on. No one ever reported me missing or claimed me.

Like any other abandoned infant, I was automatically put into foster care, becoming a ward of the state.

Unfortunately, I never found my forever family, and eventually aged out of the system. I was homeless for a while until I met Trevor.

He gave me a home, a good job, and he gave me love....

.... At least.... In the very beginning....

Eventually, alcohol found its way into our lives, and with that he became a monster...

The alcohol and drugs made him violent and horrifying, and I've ended up being the one to suffer for it.

I sighed as I felt the pain starting to fade a little, and then noticed something shiny at the corner of my eye...

I looked over and gulped as I looked at the razor blades, packet half opened.

I reached over and took one, opening it and admiring the little piece of metal in my fingers.

I sighed and then bought it to my wrist before sliding it across, wincing softly as the wound opened, tiny little round rubies bubbling up to the surface and then dripping down my arm.

I added more and more across my wrists, and then a few on my thighs and stomach.

I'll never fully understand it....

How does someone find comfort in breaking your own skin open after someone already did it before you?

There has to at least be some sort of psychology to it.... Could that be a symptom of a closeted psychopath?

Why do I do?

More importantly..... Why does a part of me find relief when I do?

I sighed and was about to cut over my hips when I saw the mark on my hip and sighed.