08

85 10 27

by weirdgirl_16

by weirdgirl_16

happening presently; to be mourned over

•••

d e e p breaths

cut

d r

I watch with cold eyes as the blood drips torturously down my arms and into the full sink. The droplets resonate in the clear water in outbursts of passion that could never match mine.

At least not for the right reasons.

Looking up, I face the reflection of the person I loathe the most in this world; a person who has made terrible mistakes, a person who made flimsy promises, a person who fell stupidly in love and a person who blindly trusted. I once read- on the guilt-consuming days of my first cuts- that cutting vertically could kill you, more than a normal one could. Taking another deep breath, I point the glistening razor downwards, leaving a long mark down my wrist that slowly dribbles blood from its wound.

More cuts are made.

The cuts turn into a merciless attack on both wrists as the razor, once sterile, becomes coated in fresh crimson stains. Through my gut-wrenching sobs I try hard to breathe as a panic attack hits me full force. The air whooshes straight out of my lonely lungs and it seems like cutting my blood-soaked arms is the only solution to getting it back.

Time seems to slow down as the razor slips from my bloody hands and falls into the water. The sound doesn't register through the ringing in my ears. Tears run a clear path down my face.

I look down at my hands and let out a blood-curdling scream as I realise what I have done to myself. Stumbling, I tear my clothes off of my frail frame. My shirt rips and frays in my attempts to take it off, to see the atrociousness of myself and to try to take away the back-breaking burden that seemed to weigh down on my chest and suffocate my throat. Faintly, I hear knocks and kicks on the door and what seems to be voices.

A woman is crying and a man is trying and a sister is dying, all because of me.

With a grim resolution, I heave to the other side of the bathroom and slide down the wall in a dying heap, the blood from my body leaving trail marks on the pristine, white tile. I stare at the full-length mirror on the door that I face, staring at the blood that leaves my being at every second, at the anorexic body that suffered from days of starvation and nights of deprivation. Groans and choked wailing was heard through the white noise; I realised that it was me.

My eyelids grew heavier and heavier and my head felt lighter and lighter. My wrists started burning and legs felt like lead. With a gasp I open my mouth, letting out a dry croak.

With all my energy, I mutter two words that was never heard by anyone but me,

"I'm sorry-"

---

fin.