"Are you taking a bath with your clothes on?"
I gave him a dumb look.
"No."
With this, he looked at me closer and uncrossed his arms.
"Then what are you doing?"
I held up my box cutter, thinking that it would've been obvious by now. Even to this weirdo boy who somehow just walked into my apartment.
"I was about to kill myself, so if you'll please excuse me," I said in a sarcastic tone while shooing him away with my hand.
Instead of leaving though, he walked inside and shut the door behind him. I narrowed my eyes at him. He pulled the toilet seat down and sat on it, leaning forward and lazily resting his elbows on his knees, staring directly into my eyes, which made me uncomfortable.
"Why? That's a pretty stupid thing to do." He says, almost curiously.
I scoff and avoid his gaze, looking elsewhere.
"I don't see how this is any of your concern. I don't even know who you are."
"That's probably for the best."
I looked back at him. This was very strange. I couldn't just do it with him in the room.
"Does that mean you're not going to tell me who you are?"
"Nope." He promptly replies.
Once again, we stared at each other for a while, not saying anything. That is, until I got annoyed and broke the silence.
"What do you want?"
With this, he seemed to smile a bit wider and only then did I realize that he was holding a knife.
"Why, how kind of you to finally ask. I want to kill you."
"Well I guess you're not the only one." I say, reminding him of the tool in my own hand.
"I don't think you'll do it." He says simply.
This actually makes me mad. I sit up, making a bit more water splash out of the tub, my wet black hair clinging to my clothes.
"Of course I will. Don't act like you know me." I spit at him. He was completely unfazed.
"Oh, but I do know you, Isabella."
"That's not my name."
"Don't try to deny it." He says smugly.
"No, seriously. That's not my name."
He frowns at this. He was so sure. Of course he would be. I only just changed my name today.
"Then... What is your name?"
"See? You don't know me. I'm not telling you my name. It's none of your business."
He tries to glare at me but his facial features aren't really allowing him to.
"I'll figure it out."
"Figure what out?"
He rolls his eyes and stands up. Gripping his knife in his hand.
"Your name, stupid."
He walks over to me and shoves his knife in my face as if it would scare me.
"I'll figure out your name and I'll carve it into your body before I kill you."
I looked up at him, watching his eyes gleam with what I can only describe as homicidal intent. I didn't react.
My lack of fear seemed to only make him bitter. So without another word, he turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him once again.
I was left without any words. It was only now dawning on me that I was having a relatively civil conversation with a serial killer.
I looked down at the box cutter, still aching to be used in my hand. Did I still want to do this? I was unsure.
That boy had thrown me off. I had been ready. If he hadn't interrupted me, I could've been dead by now. Floating unconsciously in my own blood.
For some reason, the thought made me sick to my stomach now. I stared at the razor for a long time before pressing it to the delicate skin of my opposite arm. Right now, I had no intention of taking my life. I just needed some sort of control over how I felt.
When I was done, I grabbed a wash cloth and held it against my arm before draining the tub. My clothes were obviously soaked and it was extremely uncomfortable. If you've ever had to sit in wet jeans, then you know exactly what I'm talking about.
I carefully stood up, being cautious of the blood loss factor. I quickly peeked outside of the bathroom door to make sure he had left before stripping out of my wet clothes and wrapping myself in a soft towel.
The blood was seeping through the washcloth on my arm so I dug through my bathroom cabinet to find a bandage wrap. I quickly wrapped it around my arm and grabbed my wet clothes.
Once again making sure that no one else was in my apartment with me, I walked around in my towel to go hang my wet clothes on the clothes line by my terrace door. Then I went back into my room and turned off my record player before slipping into some underwear, a pair of comfy shorts and an oversized t-shirt.
I really had nothing else to do and I was honestly pretty tired, so I grabbed my bottle of prescription sleeping pills and popped one into my mouth, washing it down with a bit of water.
I knew it would kick in fast so I plugged in my phone and did my nightly routine of locking the door and windows before crawling into bed and curling up under the covers.
Within minutes I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
