The Game | Completed

slut

June 20

I woke on the bathroom floor, and just stared at the ceiling.

Am I even alive?

I glanced around the room and couldn't help but notice that I was alone, laying a pool of someone else's blood.

Wait, no, the blood was mine.

I felt hundreds of small cuts all over my body, most likely from the pile of glass shards I was laying on.

My memories slowly flooded back to me. Henry, my attacker, the weapon, the mirror, and passing out.

"Help." I croaked out. My voice was hoarse, Henry wouldn't be able to hear me from in here.

Nevertheless, I tried again, "Please, help." My voice was slightly louder this time, but still not loud enough. I was losing blood, but I couldn't move enough find the main source of the bleeding.

I looked down at my stomach, blood soaked through my light gray shirt. I gently moved my arm to lift it. As I slowly lifted the hem I could see why I was bleeding.

Someone had carved the word, 'SLUT,' into my abdomen. Pain ripped through me when I tried to move. Tears started free-falling from my eyes, there was no way I was gonna survive this.

I tried to heal myself but nothing I did worked. All I could do was stare at the vile word on my stomach and cry. I was hurt other places but, I had no idea where.

The pain that raked my body was overwhelming. It felt like it was coming from everywhere. As I looked back down at my stomach, I noticed a long, shallow cut running down either one of my sides.

But, just like the word, no matter how hard I tried, it wouldn't close. Of all times, why now? As I closed my eyes to accept death, I thought of Henry.

I couldn't just leave him, not like this. My mind raced with all the memories I have of Henry and I. Every single memory I had, playing through my mind.

My lips opened in a broken smile at the I thought of him. I tried to focus my attention back to my body and I looked at my legs.

My leggings were cut away from my body.  There were short, shallow cuts running horizontally from the tops of my thighs all the way down to my ankles.

I tried to move my head to look around me but I cut my cheek on glass. All I could really make out was a large clump of my hair in the corner, most likely yanked out during the struggle.

I slowly lifted my arms to check for injuries. A long, deep lines ran horizontally down both of my wrists. That was where most of the blood was coming from. I tried to scream for help but my voice was just as hoarse and quiet as the last times.

I gently ran my fingers along my throat and found that the thin wire was still embedded in my neck.

Whoever did this to me really wanted me dead. It had never set in before, but this time, I definitely got the message.

Whoever wanted to kill me was going to succeed. I was going to bleed out on the floor of my bathroom in a pile of broken glass.

I couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it all. Henry was on other side of the door, probably asleep. The guy could sleep through a hurricane. That was it, my only savior, clearly unaware of the tragedy on the bathroom floor. 

I winced at the wave of pain that hit my body when I laughed. I looked back down at the atrocious word carved into my abdomen.

I was a slut, that's what has always been burned into my brain at least. That's what Lydia called me when I would leave, trying to escape. She assumed I was sneaking out to see a boy. Even at age ten.