I was sitting in my bathroom questioning if I wanted to do it or not. I knew it would bring the pain of life away but, did I want the scars? Was cutting the only option? No, it wasn't, but it was the only option that I could think of right now. It even seemed like the best option for me. My sight was blurred by the tears in my eyes. Nobody would know anything was happening. Mom was at work and my brothers were either eating or watching TV. I had time. I slowly reached over to the bathroom counter, grabbing my knife to bring it to my wrist. The tears were dripping from my eyes onto my wrist. All I could think of was the past couple of years, the hardest ones of my life. I thought of all my old friends and all the fights we've had. How my parents got divorced when my youngest brother, who is disabled, was only six. Sure it was only two years ago but he still doesn't even remember them being together. But me, being the oldest, remembers every second of it. I was raised with two parents being happily married. But that wasn't good enough for my mom. She just wasn't happy and had to get the divorce. One of the main reasons I'm about to cut right now. The knife was now piercing my skin, blood running from the open wound. It really did get the pain of life away. Now, all I thought of was my music. Playing loud enough so no one could hear me cry from the soon to be scar on my skin. It was one of my favorite songs, King for a Day by Pierce the Veil. It was all I thought of until the pain of my cut went away. That's when everything came back to me. And I mean everything. My wrist was soaked in blood and tears. I needed to cut the other wrist now.
I brought the cold, sharp blade down to my other arm. I felt a pierce in my skin. Within a blink of the eye, the blade was off my body and back on the counter. Now there was deep, red blood running from both my arms. The thought of my mom finding out about my multiple cut wounds made me panic. I was suddenly running my arms under the hot water trying to wash the blood away. It took me a while but it finally came off.
I tip-toed out into the kitchen and placed the bloody knife in the sink. I started to walk back to the crime scene to get rid of the rest of the evidence when my youngest brother caught my attention.
"Houstyn! Houstyn! Guess what!!"
"What do you want, Damon?" I asked my cute, little, eight year old brother.
"When's mommy going to be home, sissy?" he whined.
"Not for another hour or two. Now go back to watching TV, I have to clean!" I yelled. He gave me a look of shock then smiled and ran back to the couch. I rolled my eyes and laughed. I couldn't be mad at him. Especially for no reason. I quickly closed the bathroom door and sat down. At this point I was shaking really badly. I've never done drugs or drank alcohol before but, I imagined this is what people might feel like during and after the fact of doing it. It was now 6:30 at night and my mother should be home in an hour and a half but I didn't care. I just wanted to sit here and cry. I layed down on the bathroom floor and without warning, passed out. I guess it was the loss of blood messing with me. I mean, I've never really done this sort of thing before. But all I could do now was sit there and dream until the next morning.
I woke up to my blairing alarm. It was six in the morning, time to get ready for school. It was a Tuesday, the worst day of the week, in my opinion. I rolled off the couch, doubling as my bed, wondering how I got there. I thought for a moment and realized that my mom must have moved me. I did the zombie walk into my mom and I's closet to pick out clothes for the day. I was about to choose this really plain t-shirt when I remembered my cuts.
"It's a long sleeve shirt day." I mumbled. I threw on my shirt and randomly grabbed a pair of jeans. Of course I just had to choose my tightest and only pair of skinny jeans. I gradually put on my pants and walked into the bathroom. Now it was time to beautify my face, if that was even possible.
