Unforgivable Lacerations

Chapter Twenty-Five

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter involves suicide, please know your limits.

*_*_*_*_*

I want to end this; when this thought arrived, it stayed, lingering in the back of my mind, poisoning any hope I had still obtained into a mere dream- for that was all it would ever be. A dream. That thought made sure I would never question escapism, that I would never again ask 'when will this end?' or 'how can I escape?', as I couldn't. This cell that I was imprisoned in didn't have a secret tunnel for me to leave by, nor a savior on the other side of the walls. It was just me. Just a human. 

And that was how I ended up here, day twenty-eight, my birthday, with a bottle of bleach in my hand and tears rushing down my face. I could already smell my escape, taste it, quite literally, on the tip of my tongue. 

What was keeping me here? 

Why was I hesitating? 

As the fumes channeled up my nose, my heart began to race faster and faster. Anticipation. Adrenaline. With not a sane cell in my body, I reminded myself that no one would care if I died, no one would miss me. I highly doubt I would even receive a funeral. 

It was okay, though. I would be getting out of this place. 

*_*_*_*_*

The morning of September thirteenth started with the usual stinging, aching, and self-destroying pain of my wounds; the knife's lasting results were by far the worst as the stitches continued to snap and pull with every movement I attempted. Thus, I tried not to move at all. 

With limited movements came limited activities and chores I could pursue, therefore, it was no surprise when my punishments became worse; I couldn't help late dinners, dirty sides, unswept floors, and blood stains- especially without pain relief. 

As Jacob would like to decline my human right to food, as 'if I wanted it, I better start fucking cooking properly,' my body continued to unnaturally shrink while I suffered the unbearable torture of hunger pains and lack of energy. Of course, I now tended to steer away from mirrors, not desiring the reflection I would receive of a hollowness I never thought was possible. My sunken face, with skin stretching around my fragile skull, would only build in size when my skin was an array of dark colors, and my legs were far enough apart to be a window in order to see the other side, my knees wouldn't ever touch each other unless I forced them to. Horrific, wasn't it? In addition, my bones jutted out from every limb, mountains and valleys corrupting over my deteriorating body as I hid them away with layers of clothes and my thin dry hair. 

I was eighteen, but with the health of a ninety-year-old, a ticking time bomb with each limb threatening to quit on me. Eighteen, I said. 

Fortunately, I was allowed a share of food- more importantly, carbohydrates, as a piece of bread was my allowance every morning. Thus, I attempted to savor the taste of the bread while I sat with a straight back in the kitchen. Rumbling stomach and parched mouth, I could only distract myself by thinking about my hatred for Jacob. 

The young boy didn't understand the human body, in my opinion. Which resulted in his foolishness in 'looking after me'. Needless to have ever said, I didn't need looking after- I was my own independent person and capable of many things. The point of the matter was that he needed to grow up and obtain some more maturity, at least. As if he was acting his age, I wouldn't be in this position- for he would have known it wasn't my fault and in life, people had to let things go.  

However, with him being lead and influenced by the pack, it was no wonder he had resulted in being an abusive masochistic monster. Jacob was no worse than the pack- Paul especially.