The Girl with the Scissors

I didn’t know what to do.

I was scared, angry, confused and heartbroken.

I started pacing my room rapidly, but that didn’t work.

I shoved my head under my pillow and turned the music up so loud, that my ear phones were literally pounding.

That didn’t work either.

 I knew what I wanted to do, I was just trying to stop myself.

As I looked at the scars on my hands, a few tears entered my eye.

I took a step, edging nearer to the shiny blades that lay on the table. Voices entered my head, yelling at me not to do it.

Even if I had obeyed them, I don’t think I could’ve stopped myself.

I swallowed hard as I hesitated to pick up the scissors. But I couldn’t stop myself, I held them at first, cradled in my arms. But I just got angry and pulled the two blades apart.

Running to the bath, I turned the taps on full blast so the water was splashing me from the sides.

I held out my arm to see two veins, recognisably sticking out. It had ‘cut here’ practically written on them.

I gently slashed my pale skin. Watching it, as flakes of skin fell delicately into the bath. I waited for the blood to start trickling. Two seconds and the crimson liquid flowed down my hands. This gave me a very nervous thrill. It kept flooding until the water was all red.

I kept going, on and on but some how avoiding the veins.

‘Do it, do it’ the voices yelled inside my head.

‘Pussy. Pussy. Pussy.’

Tears still dripping from my eyes, falling even harder now.

‘He doesn’t care about you. He couldn’t care less if you died,’ it kept on.

I knew they were right. But I wasn’t a coward.

One clean swipe. I started to feel faint so I knelt down on the floor, leaning over the bath.

I could see deep below my skin now. Things that are never meant to be seen.

‘Is that the best you can do? I don’t think you quite got it. He couldn’t give a shit if you killed yourself. He said so himself and you know it. Either keep living a painful life or one swipe and you’re life is over. I guess you can die with some dignity’

Tears were flowing as fast as my blood. I started feeling weaker and weaker, so much my hand was shaking. I felt sick looking at the open wound.

Then my phone beeped. With my trembling hand, I pulled it out of my pocket. His name appeared on the screen. Anxiously I opened the text.

‘Fuck off I don't care,’ it said.

I slammed the phone down on the floor and stopped crying. Dizzyness was taking over, I guessed I was loosing conciseness.

‘Pussy,’ boomed in my head one more time.

I raised the scissors, clasping them like a knife. Holding them to the open wound which had gone incredibly fuzzy.

I tried as delicately as I could to aim them straight to the nearly burst vein. I wanted to do this as less painful as possible.

I don’t remember doing it, but I must’ve.

All I remember is screaming and the sight of blood.