Perfection (Red Wrists 1 REWRITTEN EDITION)

Part One

(Emma)

I stared down at my wrists for the longest time, holding the razor on my free hand. I've been in this position for about an hour, trying to convince myself not to cut. It was hard, considering the following: I was failing school, my real parents were either in prison or dead (whichever one it was, I'll never know), I lived with abusive adopted parents, and no one would care anyways. I was a nobody. No friends, no family, nothing to live for.

Letting out a sigh, I rested the razor against my wrist and drag it across, the blade digging into the skin, droplets of blood pooling at the edges of the cuts. After doing this a few times, all while watching the crimson liquid flow into the bathroom sink, I grab the medical bandage from the First-Aid kit under the sink, wrapping it around my bleeding wrist. This was all just part of my daily routine. Wake up, take a shower, cut, eat breakfast, head off to school. That was my morning.

Pulling on my jacket to hide the bandage, I walk downstairs and right past my adoptive parents. They both glared at me with disgust, as if I was some sort of hideous rodent that needed to die. I'm pretty sure the government or adoption agency was paying them to keep me at their home. I returned the same look of disgust, clearly letting them know I felt the same way about them. As my adopted father, Mike, stood up from his seat, I quickly decided that I could skip today's breakfast, running out of the room and through the front door. Looks like I was headed off to school early.

As I head out the front door, the light from the sunrise beating down on my pitch black hair. The school was about six blocks away, so I easily walked there and back without any trouble. But it was a shady neighborhood. Dark alleys at noon, bar fights in broad daylight, and at least one or two people getting killed weekly in my neighborhood alone. Why do I live in this hell? I ask myself that same question every day.

I let out a small sigh, realizing that I've forgotten my book bag. Which had all of my textbooks and homework in it from last night. If I went to school without it, the teachers would give me an after school attention for another missing assignment. Either that or they'd fail me for that class. And then Mike and Kara would get even more mad at me then they already were. As I drift off into a train of thought, I didn't realize where I was going. Lifting my head up and shielding my green eyes, I look around at my surroundings.

I wasn't anywhere near my school. In fact, I walked past it at some point, as I could clearly see the building by looking over my shoulder. It was about three blocks away somehow, the trees and houses nearly blocking it out of my view. I knew where I was. In this shady town, there was an even shadier part of the neighborhood. And that's where I was. The shadiest of the shady. The place where everything and anything bad or sinful happens. And If I didn't get out of here soon, I'd be found dead in a ditch tomorrow. These people didn't like strangers, and I was a stranger.

As if to remind me of intruding, a deep chuckle sounded from a distance not too far away from the spot where I stood; the sound was cold and dark, making me feel l like I was in the scary part in a horror movie. It was a terrifying chuckle, one that sent shivers through my veins. Slowly turning my head towards the sound, I see a man in a trench coat, a huge hat atop his head to block out any of his facial features. "Say, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked, his voice sounding even darker and scarier than his chuckle. I feel myself tense up, ready to run for my life if he took a step closer. This was one of those shady people in this shady place that weren't friendly to strangers.

"I was headed towards school," I say, balling my hands into fists at my sides. Behind my somewhat strong composure, I was nothing more than a fragile leaf shaking in the winds of fear. I was terrified. And the man could see that. He took a shuffling step towards me, a smirk growing on his pale face. "Well little lady," he said, chucking again, "looks like you've bypassed your destination. School's back that way." I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face as I whispered, "That's nice to know, Sir, but I really have to get going." Taking a step backwards and away from the man, my back smashes into a solid surface. Strong hands grasp my shoulders, holding me firmly in place. I let out a yelp of surprise, trying to pull away from the grip when the trenchcoat man walked towards me. He reached his hand out, gently trailing the back of it over my cheek with that sick smirk still on his face. I shutter, the slight touch disgusting me beyond end.

"Looks like you're a bit stuck," he said, his smirk growing wider like a fertilized flower. Let's hope I didn't fertilize that flower. If so, it was on accident. He continued trailing his hand down, tracing it down my neck and over my collar bone. But it didn't stop its journey there. His hand continued down even further, brushing over my breasts and grazing across my stomach as it made its way to the zipper on my pants. I open my mouth to scream in protest, but the person holding me by the shoulders used one hand to clamp my mouth closed. Letting out muffled cries of denial, I watched in horror as he began to undo my zipper.