Insanity

Chapter Three

"Let me speak with my daughter", the man pleads from the phone. "I'm begging you, whoever you people are, just let me talk to her."
"Fine. I'll grant that request." Jake reaches over ands pulls the fabric away from my face, crossing his arms, his brown eyes unblinking as he stares into my eyes.
"Baby, can you hear me?"
"Dad, I'm here", I answer, my voice cracking as tears slide down my cheeks. "Daddy, you have to help me."
"Sweetheart, don't be scared", he replies. "It's going to be alright. You're going to be fine."
My eyelids snap open and I realize that I'm still sitting at the table, only now my plate is in pieces on the floor by my feet.
I blink away tears, biting my lip before sliding my chair back so I can get down on my knees to pick up the light blue shards, gingerly picking up each piece, trying not to get cut by the sharp edges.
I stand up with an armful of sharp ceramic, walking towards the trash can, trying to shove my latest hallucination out of my mind.
As I dump them into the container, some of the edges slice my right hand, the red liquid mesmerizing, the pain addicting as my blood drips off of my skin and onto the floor in a beautiful tiny scarlet waterfall.
I shake my head to clear it, shuffling as quickly as I can back to the table, using my left hand to pick up my phone as more of the scarlet blood trails down my fingers.
I use my thumb to unlock the device and then to dial, holding it up to my ear as the call connects.
"Cupcake? What's-"
"I flashed", I say in monotone, interrupting Jake's words. "You have to help me." 
"Are you alright?"
"I might be bleeding."
"What?! How bad?!" His voice gets worried, his breathing coming into my ears uneven, as if panting with fear.
I glance at my bloody hand. "Badly."
"I'm on my way", Jake says, and I hear a noise in the background, as if an office chair was shoved back. "Apply pressure with a paper towel, alright? I'm leaving work as we speak."
"Okay."
"Be there soon." He hangs up and I draw the phone away from my ear to check the time.
3:18.
I sigh and turn off my device, walking over to the kitchen sink to tear off a paper towel from the roll, gritting my teeth at the annoying sound the material makes as I rip it apart.
I. Don't. Like. It.
I glare at the piece in my hand, squeezing it with my fist. I smile when my hand hurts, throwing my head back, laughing as my palm aches, giggling when red blood drips onto the tiles beneath my feet.
The towel falls out of my grasp, my footsteps light as I make my way to the knife drawer.
I need more, the voice inside my head whispers. So much more.
----
"Oh, my God."
I look up from my hands, the blade wet with red liquid.
"Hi", I say cheerily, giving him a wave, laughing as more drips onto my lap. I gently set the knife down on the counter top beside where I'm sitting cross-legged, my thighs covered in knife marks, giving it a loving pat before picking up the next one.
It's too clean. It needs to be pretty.
"Theresa, put the knife down", Jake orders, walking quickly over. "Put it down. Now."
"It's not pretty!", I shout, surprising him. "It doesn't understand!"
He looks at me, looking deep into my eyes for a moment before ripping the blade out of my grasp, dropping it onto the floor, my blood splattering even more onto what was white tile.
"Come on. Let's go get you fixed up."
"I don't need fixing!", I scream, kicking my fiancé as he tries to pick me up. "I'm perfect!"
"Shh", he says. "Of course you are."
"You're a liar!", I shriek. "You're trying to make me ugly again! I made art and you don't like it!"
I burst into tears, burying my face in my hands, sticky blood getting all over my face.
Jake ignores me, scooping me up and carrying me into the bedroom, then into the bathroom, locking the door before putting me down on the counter.
"I don't wanna be fixed!", I cry as he wets a washcloth, wiping the red water off of my skin, thrashing as more and more of my masterpiece gets washed away. "Stop! Stop it!"
"Shhh", Jake soothes, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. "It's not hurting you."
"You're destroying everything!", I screech. "It was a masterpiece!"
"Honey, if you don't quiet down, I will start fighting back", he warns, setting the cloth off to the side before opening the cupboard by my head, pulling out a first aid kit.
I watch him open it and take out a wipe, wiping down my legs, one after the other before moving on to my arms, and then my hands. I laugh at the sting, leaning my head back against the mirror, relishing in the twinges of pain I feel.
Suddenly, it's gone, and I look at my fiancé, disappointment washing over me. That feeling fades when I watch him pull out a needle, threading black string through the tiny hole.
"What's that for?", I ask curiously, wondering if I get to have even more fun. "Are you gonna make art?"
Jake smiles. "That's right, Cupcake", he says, taking my arm. "We're gonna make art."