Well, I guess I was there...

Prologue.

Jayne woke up in the bathroom with her hands soaked in blood. She saw a knife lying near her, than looked at her hands again, but could not understand what was happening. Her first words was "Mom", but her voice was at its hoarsest so nobody could hear her. Apparently she felt suicidal again, and decided to give up on life, but that didn't work out for her.
"Jayne!" Mrs Coyne rushed into the bathroom with her face soaked in tears and her hair soaked in hairspray. "Jayne! You're alive! Jayne darling! I love you!"
Mrs Coyne hugged here daughter.
"Jayne how dare you? I know you're suffering a hard time, but there's no reason to give up on life. You father is trying his best to find a more less decent job and your auntie will be better soon. Mommy's pinkie promise!"
"I know. I'm just...tired. Can I go back to bed?"
"Yes, darling, of course. I will make you some ginger tea, my baby!"
Mrs Coyne rushed into the kitchen while Jayne crawled to her room at her fastest, however she was still like a snail.
She came to her room full of posters of her idols like. Felt like her heart belongs to one of her idols and she lives in an imaginary world where she is the girlfriend of some handsome member of some famous band. In her dreams she wanted to be, but she considered herself to a hardcore person with to thoughts about relationships.
"Ginger tea!" sang Mrs Coyne. "Darling, would you like some cookies with your tea?"
"No, mom, it's fine."
"OK, my darling! Call me if you need me, I will go and meet up with my new boss. Mommy is getting a new job!"
"Good luck Mom."

Mrs Coyne left Jayne on her own. Jayne was looking at her slaughtered hands, her cuts were already a bit drier, but still some of them were still bleeding. Everything is going nuts! Her dad Mr Michael Coyne is struggling to find himself a new job, her mom tries her best to help him, but things are not going well. Her aunt has a terrible disease which nobody knows about, and Jayne is in the middle of it all. She is the only thing to scream at when the things are bad. She is the only person to push, kick and hit every time someone is feeling like it. No wonder why she is so stoked on killing herself.
She crawled to the kitchen to try it one more time. She didn't want to touch her cut arms, but her wrists were smooth. For now. She took a knife with her fragile hands and started cutting her fingers, watching them bleed on the white kitchen floor. She put her thumb in her mouth to taste her blood. Blood tasted bitter and gross.
"Why am I doing this?" she asked herself, however it was too late. Her white t-shirt was soaked in that red smelly substance and her bare feet were standing in a puddle of blood.
"I have to stop this!" she screamed. "Stop it!"
But her hands were cutting more and more of her skin with passion.
"Why are you doing this! Stop it!"