Worth Dying For ( A Johnnie Guilbert Novel)

Prologue

    Darkness....no sound. Then light, blinding fiery light bursting from beneath closed eyelids. Why is it so cold and why am I....

                                                             alone???

I woke with a start, gasping in freezing winter air. Damn.  I stood and stretched, hoping to shake off the latest nightmare. It was never easy waking up from these things. Cold sweat trickled down my spine and flipped my bangs out of my face as I fumbled for the lamp switch. The bright light cast sinister shadows on the wall behind me, ghosts that lingered in my head slide up the barrier. I take a few shallow breaths and try to stop it. Stop the light from penetrating my mind, the sound of the air scraping up my throat, the ugly voices in my head.

I can't do this.

I slip out from under the covers, making the dreaded but oh so predictable walk to the canvas painting on the wall. The whispers grow louder with every step and I slide the razor out of its hiding place. I must have hesitated because ten minutes later I was still standing there with that stupid razor blade in my hand. I shook it off and put cold steel to the warm pale skin and  pulled it across quickly once. Then again. And again. I didn't even cry. At least not until the razor was put away and I crawled back into bed, clutching an old t-shirt to my torn wrist.

Why do I always fuck everything up???

Then the tears began to fall and I turned to flip off the light, breath coming in ragged gasps now. You see I don't do ugly crying. The darkness won't allow it. And as the mini-sun took all its light with it, I sat in the silence, and thought of a better place, where there was no blood, no more tears, and

NO MORE ME.