In my shocked state I turned the handle to the left and heard the water begin to pound lightly on the shower floor as steam emitted the curtained off section. I stepped in and let the water pour over my tired and aching body. Not having the physical or mental energy to actual wash myself, let alone stand, I let myself slide down the edge of the tile wall and sit in silence with the exception of the warm rain surrounding me.
I closed my eyes and a tingling shiver ran down my spine. In that instant images came flashing through my mind and my head began to pound. I wanted to scream. I needed to cry. I was going to cut. I said I never would. I always said I never would. I wouldn’t have guts enough to do it anyways, and I really couldn’t now.
Thinking about cutting brought back everything about Ellie. I couldn’t think about her I really couldn’t, I knew all it would do is hurt me. I thought about our seven years of friendship. I thought about all the times we had together, all the secrets we shared, all our stupid mistakes, and then, I thought about the first time she cut. And then the second. And then third and fourth and fifth and every single time after. She never knew I found out at first, it was the first secret she kept from me. Eventually though, her idea of saying her cat scratched her no longer seemed like a legible excuse for the perfect lines across her tiny wrists. When I finally confronted her about it she didn’t even flinch, barely seemed to care, she just seemed to accept that I knew. I was content with this because then at least she began telling me things again. About her cutting, about her anorexia, about anything, and I was content with that because I figured if she could talk to me about it then maybe she would be better. That she would be normal happy Ellie. When I look back at that now, just a short year and a half ago, I wonder how far gone she already was.
Somewhere amidst my thoughts tears began to stream down my face, I lay curled up on the shower floor holding myself waiting for it to be okay. Almost unknowingly I grab my pearly pink razor and pinch one of the blades out. The idea of cutting comes so easily, I know I won’t though, I told Ellie I wouldn’t. I know I can’t because friends don’t lie to each other so I don’t want to lie to Ellie. Even though she lied to me when she said that she would stay. I miss her. Even though she’s gone I could never lie to her. I begin to try to painstakingly remember everything about her. All I can seem to think of is the scars that covered her flawless arms. Her wrists were so pretty and tiny and delicate. I look down at mine to see if they could ever compare to her perfect little ones, instead I’m surprised to see blood prickling over the sides of little red lines on my right wrist and a blade in my left hand. I guess Ellie and I are fair now on broken promises.
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So this is kind of an opening I guess, an eye catcher maybe? I'll try to continue this if an interest is taken to it by yall'.
