In her room, the box once again, passes her mind. She can feel her hand carefully reaching into the draw, and unable to stop it, and the box appears. Blues and greens swirl on the box, like the sky of a storm, specks of white reflect off the box, the sunlight daunting.
Ava sits gently onto her bed, her fingers cautiously unlatch the lock and her trembling fingers reach in. Already, the glint of the blade makes Ava flutter.
The room dims and lightens again. A faint feeling washes her brain. She inspects the blade, twisting it this way and that in her fingers, the sunlight reflecting against the blade, and shining onto the wall.
She slowly lowers the blade to her wrist and the familiar lines appear. Dotted crimson strokes bead up and the release-like feeling gently flows around Ava's body.
A sigh of release echoes through the room, bouncing off the walls and sneaking off through the crack under the door.
The blood gently drips down her wrist and she wipes it away with her other hand. Her stomach growls, begging to be taken priority.
Ava ignores it and slowly wipes her blade with a tissue, cleaning it and placing it gently back in the box. Only now did she notice the tears rolling down her cheeks, dripping onto her lap. She hugged her pillow hard, so hard her knuckles turned white. And she cried herself to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
Dying to be Perfect...
RandomThe story is about a thrirteen year old girl named Ava who has anorexia, bulimia and self harms. The story is about how this all came to be and if Ava can survive.
