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One...two...three...four...five...six...seven...

What do you smell?

Blood.

And what does blood smell like?

Metal. Salt.

What do you see?

I don't want to look.

Why?

'Cause I know what I will find.

Tell me.

...bodies...my family are gone arn't they?

Are you scared?

Yes... are you?

   The dark is gone and is replaced by light. Bright light that sends pulses through my head.

How much did I drink last night?

    I throw off my covers, standing is hard but after a minute I can calm my legs.
   My body is numb and sweaty. The only thing in my reach is a bottle of Jack Daniels. I take a big swig and lay it back down on my dresser.
   I scan my almost empty room, looking for something I know I will never find. I do find my window, it's open, the wind is blowing softly inside.
Fall is amost here.

   I take another swig and walk into my bathroom, avoiding looking at my shaddered mirror that broke years ago.

   The water takes a minute to heat, when it does I climb in and wash the sweat and dirt off myself.

   For a while I am hypnotized by my hands. You never think about how people look at you until you notice every detail about yourself.
   Every scar, every bump, all the little freackles, they all seem like a dream until someone else notices.

   There's a bang somewhere inside.

  I heard it but I can't move my eyes.

   The world around my eyes close in onto my fingers.

"AMELIA!"

I jump and throw my head up. "Yeah?"

   The bathroom door opens, "What are you doing? You're gonna be late."

"I changed my mind..."

     The curtians suddenly fly to the side and a tall, black, brown eyed man stares at me. He arches his eye brows and gives me a confused look.

    "I don't want to go anymore." I push past him and grab a towel to wrap around me. His eyes follow my face as I walk back into my bedroom and to my dresser.
   He lets out a big groan and scurrys after me. "What the hell Mills? You promised me you would go this time."
   I grab the bottle and down the rest of the Jack, "I'm sorry, but I don't want a bunch of fucking thearapists telling me what to do."

   I pick up a black t-shirt from the floor I wore days ago. Despite it reaking of cigarettes and vodka I throw it on and grab the skinny jeans next to them.

   "You need help... and I am trying to help you. Please." He takes my wrist and pulls me to look at him, "You have a problem that you need to get sorted out."