Inbalance

Three to Five

The warmth of me and my parent's house embraced me. Despite my pitiful actions towards work, at least my home was still happy with me.

I bit my tongue to keep me from groaning out loud of the unpleasant stinging sensation of the water drying on my arms. I pulled down my long sleeve shirt revealing my unnatural cut-up arms, burning and irritated. I shut my eyes as hard as I could to distract myself from the pain. My parents were still on the couch, watching their shows and their cinnamon-stained plate on their laps.

I avoided talking to them and ran to my room, covering my arms with paper towels I had grabbed from the kitchen

"Where are you going?" I heard my mother say, slowly fading away as I got further away from her and behind my door, that I had shut and locked.

I unveiled the paper towels, now covered in a repulsive mixture of blood and water. The blood smelled like pennies. I threw them away in the trash bin that was already full. It slipped off the trash and landed on the ground, wetting my carpet.

The rain had stopped, and the only thing I could hear was my own gasps and quiet cries of pain.

My best distraction was to go on my phone. I had made a social media post on Twitter, asking people if money could buy happiness. My overwhelming feeling of curiosity brought me to look at the comments. Multiple responses were harmless. Except for one

One thing.

One thing that someone had said. Set me over the top. Boiled my blood directly out of my veins and dripped down my nose onto my mouth.

My old friend that I thought I was so close to, turned their back on me and had revealed secrets that I wanted to be kept, out to the public. They looked at the post and said two words.

"Kill yourself"

At the moment that I read that comment, something let loose.

I stopped thinking. Nothing was received by my brain. I looked at other comments and I didn't understand them, like in a moment I lost my ability to speak the English language. I stopped having thoughts, and I didn't hear my conscience speaking to me and reading other comments to myself.

I looked up into the mirror and my eyes were bloodshot to hell, and my lower face was covered in blood from wiping my face and smearing my bloodied nose further.

I could no longer feel the sheets on my bed. The sweat that started to drip down my forehead became unnoticeable. I couldn't comprehend the stickiness of the blood lightly latching my two lips together, and audibly stuck and unstuck when I moved my mouth.

The dried blood crinkled and eventually peeled off my face being forced off as my face started to form a smile. I chucked my phone out my window, shattering the glass. My eyes didn't flinch or close, I stayed still. I felt nothing. I didn't feel regret when I threw it out the window.

I looked at my bedside table. It was sort of short, and brown. It had a single small drawer on the front that was missing a handle that I hadn't fixed yet.

I pulled it open and started cackling.