georgia rose and diana ➢ one direction (ON HOLD + UNDER EDITING PROCESS)

x. diana and the gruesome wrist

x. diana and the gruesome wris

I pull the gleaming razor closer, inspecting it. Some parts of it are rusty, but otherwise the sharp blade is still shiny and silver. I've never self-harmed before, but I admit sometimes I've had intentions of cutting my wrists.

I've read about depression. I've read about how depression destroys someone's life, urging them to cut their wrists, their legs, or across their bellies. I am scared of what depression results to. But, I didn't notice that I am depressed until I arrive here, in this gloomy motel, where I am alone, possibly for the rest of my life.

I take a deep and shaky breath and glide the blade of the razor across my wrist. When the blade makes contact with the skin and forms a deep cut, I wince and moan out in pain as blood drips down and blobs down on the white tiles.

Even though the pain is overwhelming, I still love the feeling of it. It makes me, somehow, forget about what's been happening to me the past few days. About what's been going on with my family ties. How my parents don't love me, really.

I continue slowly slashing on my wrist, moaning and writhing in pain. With a final cut, I drop the bloody razor on the floor and stumble backwards in shock.

I have never self-harmed, nor have I thought about suicide. But the results from my parents hating me had led to this, to me being stuck in a grubby hotel.

I look at my bloody wrist. I stare and stare and stare until everything goes blurry and my eyes fill with tears. I let out a choked sob as I slide down the wall, landing on the floor in a messy heap.

I continue crying, and crying, until I go to the point where there are no more tears left. My wrist has stopped bleeding but it still looks gruesome as ever.

I wipe at my tear-stained cheeks before hiccuping. I miss Frankie and Hazel. I miss Lei. I miss my comfortable room, but no matter how much going back to my home sounds tempting, I will never give up.

I'm an independent girl. I can do this on my own. I don't need my parents. I don't need anyone.

***

It's midnight but I'm wide awake. My huge and widened eyes are staring frustratedly at the ceiling, counting the cracks in it. So far I've only counted twelve.

Time flies by and before I know it, it's thirty past one in the morning. I have no intentions of sleeping soon. I'm not sleepy, anyway.

My black hair is pulled up into a messy bun and I stand up. My stomach's grumbling and I'm in desperate need of water. I shudder slightly when I remember the pack of chips I ate awhile ago. There is no way I'm going to buy questionable  food from that vending machine ever again.

I walk out of my small motel room and lock it afterwards with my key. Making sure that my phone, purse, and my room key is with me, I make my way downstairs, where I see the woman at the desk smoking again.

I watch as small puffs of smoke rise from her black-teethed mouth before dissolving into nothing. She gives me a nod as I pass by her desk.

The London air is cold and I shiver when I trudge outside Motel 6. I'm only wearing a shirt and a pair of sweatpants but they're not enough to keep me warm. I rub my clammy hands up and down my arms, wanting for friction to appear between the rubs.

My face lights up when I see that there is a small convenience store and a gas station beside it in front of the motel. I walk slowly, taking my time.

When I walk inside I'm expecting for a cool blast of air-conditioning — but there is none. As a matter of fact there is no air-conditioning inside the store.

A bored-and-tired-looking woman watches me when I search the shelves for food. I come across packs of condoms, disposable diapers, and sanitary napkins.

I smile to myself when I see food on the second lining of shelves. I grab a basket and fill it with packs of chips, Pop Tarts, and the like. I grab three bottles of cold water and walk to the front desk.

"That'll be £8.50," the clerk says after scanning my items. I pull my wallet out and hand her nine euros. She gives me fifty cents as change and I thank her softly before grabbing the two paper bags. I head out of the convenience store.

I'm about to enter the motel when I hear a tweet of a whistle.

I whirl around as I scan the night for the cause of the whistle. Then I finally spot the policeman heading towards my way.

"Hey, you!" he yells. "Where do you think you're going?"

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A/N: Hey guys. I'm truly sorry for another late update, but thanks for the 50+ votes! Honestly I was surprised when I saw the amount of reads, votes, and comments on this book. Thanks a lot, guys! How about 500 reads and 70 votes for the next chapter? Thanks, and I love you all!

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