Of Shattered Hearts And Broken Glass

Chapter 1

I gasped deeply through clenched teeth as the blade parted my skin and painted my upper thigh crimson, before dripping into the bath water beneath me, colouring the water pink

"Ugh, Fuck!"I whispered. Another cut, this time higher up.

You could die...

Yeah thanks subconscious, maybe I wanted to. No one cared anyway. They only want to see Devereaux up on a pedestal, living everyone else's dreams.

If I should bleed to death right now, my parents would probably just wipe my suicide under the carpet -to protect the oh so important Dwight family name- after shedding a few hypocritical tears along with all the other people that know me -or should I say, all the other people that try to control me?

My mom and dad always presses on about the importance of my final year, my grades, getting into ivy league universities and my sports. The school -being sanctimonious and all- only preach about the responsibility I carry of upholding the right image -or, in truth, selling the right facade- as school president.

More blood escaping through another cut as my blade made a new mark.

Then there is Tracey, always bickering about our status quo and that we should only mix with the right people, that is, the people who have deep pockets and shallow minds. After that she usually moves on to inform me regarding our responsibility as a couple, to show everyone what -she thinks- true love is, in other words: acting like we never fight, doing everything Tracey wants, which includes excess amounts of blackmail and meaningless sex -The delight of love. She usually finishes off her speech by telling me how thankful I should be for her and that what I have with her, can and will never be replaced.

I clenched my teeth as more blood poured from my cuts, feels so good to feel again.

In fact, no one gives a shit about me. Let's face it, I am only relevant and useful as long as I am everyone's mirror-holding-prancing-pony that they can show off to the world like some high esteemed thorough bred show horse. The only place where I truly feel at home is here, behind the locked door in this bathroom. Only true friend I have is this blade in my hand, it understands. It doesn't judge, but rather relieves this pain that is constantly welling up on the inside. It doesn't try to mould me into it's own image, it just accepts me for who I am with it's ice cold shiny-ness.

"Fuck!" I curse under my breath. My voice echoes through the massive ensuite bathroom as pain shoots through my leg after my hand slips, causing me to make a deep cut and reach for the toilet paper.

"Everything okay in there, honey?"

Shit fuck, it's my mom.

"Uh, ye... yeah.. yes t-thanks, everything is fine", my voice cracking partly due to not using it for a while and partly because of the tears burning my throat.

"Okay, dinner's almost ready and you still have to study for that test on Thursday" she said, not even noticing the hoarseness of my voice.

"I'll be there in a sec"

To my relief, I hear her high heels clicking on the marble floors in the house as she walks away.

Shit, that was close.

I clean everything up with trembling hands after washing my face to get rid of my puffy red eyes. I put a plaster over the deep cut -probably gonna leave a scar.

I didn't want to damage my body and I wasn't a masochist either, not that there'd be anything wrong with that. Cutting was just the only thing that soothes the pain that no one sees -or cares to see.

Flushing the bloody toiletpaper down the toilet and hiding the blade, I make my way down the stairs and paste a practiced smile on my face as I sit at the dining room table.