Lisa Skye

Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter contains cutting, and it may trigger some people, so just a warning.

I throw my backpack down and fall face first onto my bed. I wasn't going to do my homework, obviously, but I didn't want to sit around doing nothing for the rest of the day.

I sit up and reach into my backpack, pulling out my sketchbook. It was how I expressed my feeling these days, because talking never seemed to work.

At first I start writing words. I say things like "I wish I knew how to stick up for myself" and "Why do I always hurt people". But then my anger gets the best of me, and I scribble hard onto the paper, ripping through the thin sheet.

I throw my sketchbook and pencil on the floor. Why am I like this?! Why do I always hurt people? I don't deserve to live... I never did, I think to myself.

I feel hot tears fall down my face. I can't do this anymore. I grab my pillow and put it over my face, screaming into it. "I CANT DO THIS ANYMORE!"

I throw the pillow back onto my bad and fall onto the ground. Reaching underneath my bed, I pull out a small box.

The box I swore I'd never open again.

I rip off the top and pull out the small pocketknife my dad had given me a while back. I need to do this. It's a punishment. I've been bad, I tell myself over and over again in my head.

I bring the tip of the blade to the skin on my left wrist, all of my old feelings coming back to me. Like all the feelings from before were just stuck on the blade, and the touch brought them back.

I close my eyes, and rip the blade across my skin. The stinging feeling immediately brings relief to my head. I repeat this action, over and over, until all the scars on my arm are reopened once again.

I open my eyes and stare at the blood on my arm, feeling myself smile slightly. Why am I smiling? I ask myself.

Suddenly, I feel my eyes get heavy. I put the pocketknife back in the box and crawl into bed, not caring about if I get my sheets or blanket bloody.

That's what washing machines are for, right?