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CHAPTER FOURTEEN. you're not sorry.
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IT IS NO ONE'S FAULT but my own that gravity chains me to my bed, weakness holding me down like two cold, demonic hands pressed to my chest, a force so strong that breathing feels like it should be rewarded for. I went too far last night. Again, like I always do, though each time is somehow worse than the one before it. If that's even possible — which I doubt it truly is, but it feels it. There are only so many lengths a person can reach, until their arm is torn from its joint because of how far its extended, searching for the fine line of a limit that snaps to the touch. I fear I am reaching that point, for my arm is starting to ache like no other. It is not my duty to recreate The Creation of Adam. My duty is to live.
How is a girl to live when she has nothing to live for? How is a girl to live when she doesn't want to? How is a girl to live when she has no idea of what true life is because her mind won't stop lying to her? How am I to live when I feel like death? An emotional grim reaper, sucking the soul out of myself via my thighs, one scratch at a time. It's always just a scratch, just a habit, until it becomes a slash, and an addiction. A problem. A liability.
I can't even look at myself. I can't even peel the sheets off my body since I was dumb enough (or rather weak enough) to not dress my wounds properly, leading to linen being caught up in the dried lake of blood on my legs. Despite my unconscious state last night, I thankfully managed to save my wrists from punishment, which means all I have to bear is the gritting feeling of raw skin rubbing against pant legs. I think of wearing a sweater, as I'm still under the impression that Jason was here last night, but what do I know? He left no sign of him, like he doesn't exist. Does he exist, or is he another thing I've made up to excuse my actions?
Mid-stretch, I retrieve my phone from the nightstand, feeling instant vibrations from an incoming call. My eyes narrow to reduce the early-morning blurry vision, deciphering the bluelight cloud to see Lola's name and a picture of us taking up the screen. Out of resentment, I throw away the first call, letting her feel the same way as I have the past few times I've tried to reach her. On the third ring, I finally pick up, clearing my throat before greeting her with, "What?"
