Blood

Chapter One

You know that feeling when you scrape your knee and you're crying because it hurts like hell right?

Boo-hoo, Mommy come kiss it better right?

Not for me.

I just think about the blood.

Just looking at the welcoming liquid spill over my fingers and stain the bathroom tile like a crimson waterfall gave me chills. I could watch myself bleed for hours, if only mother would let me.

She was constantly in the way, saying that cutting myself was not the answer to my sadness, but what she didn't get is that I cut because it brought me joy, the pain was horrible but so worth it just to see the copper smelling liquid run down my arms and drip onto the floor under me.

So here I was, trying to stop the blood gushing from the razor cut on my arm before my mother came upstairs looking for her 'depressed' little girl, I fumbled with the gauze in my other hand before ripping it open with my teeth. I could hear her coming up the stairs (the only good thing about having wood floors and a long ass hallway) and boy was she moving fast, it was like she knew what I was doing right at this moment.

"Jesus Christ, slow down you old hag." I cursed, moving quicker than I had before I grabbed the gauze with my bloody hand wincing when pain shot up my arm. Clenching my teeth I shook my head trying to push through the pain, I gripped the sink with my bloodied hand, pausing. Taking three deep breaths, before wrapping the cut swiftly and rather sloppy but I didn't have time for neatness, taping the two end pieces of gauze together I silently cheered, now all I had to do was clean.

Ugh. This was by far the most hated step in my routine, but if I wanted my head to still be on my shoulders it had to be done.

Pouring the bleach onto my handy dandy blood rag, I wiped down the sink and then started with the floor, cleaning it was always a hassle, the blood never seemed to want to leave, which explains the various discolorations on the tile floor. I sank down to the floor kneeling on all fours, rag in hand scrubbing vigorously on the tile, the rag turning more and more pink with every swipe. I huffed, blowing some of the stray hairs out of my face, studying the floor, the white tile was now a dirty beige, I sighed before standing up, this was as good as it's gonna get.

I picked up the new gauze wrappers, stumbling in a pain induced haze to the trashcan tucked neatly in the far corner of my bathroom, tossed all of the bloody tools into the trash before going to wash my hands. Turning the sink dials and squirting and lathering  soap onto my hands, I put them under the warm water before glancing in the mirror

I always thought I looked somewhat lifeless with my pale skin, dark bags under my eyes from stress and sleep deprivation, my hair was a long plain old black, reaching the small of my back—I had always been somewhat proud of my hair growth—and of course my creepy golden eyes, these were the most peculiar to me, they seemed to have a life of their own—when I cut they always glowed brighter than normal—I haven't found out why exactly.

Just your regular nutcase I thought, grinning I shut the sink off, drying my hands on a towel before cutting the bathroom fan on and exiting the room.

-
I should've known she would be waiting for me by the time I got back to my room. Damn this hallway really is too big.

Well there she was Mrs.Keith in the flesh sitting on my bed smiling. Wait. Smiling? I stepped into my room cautiously, did I forget something?

Walking over to join her on my bed, my mother of course being the overbearing witch she is beat me to the punch, "Happy Birthday!" she screeched in my ear, wrapping her thick arms around me squeezing me half to death, her smile a million times bigger, as if she was happy by the fact I currently could not breathe.