Love, Laura (Ayden Lee fanfic)

35

9.2.2020, Laura

trigger warnings: cutting, depression, mentions of suicide. Please don't read if you easily get triggered by any of the above!

This is a long one btw, 900 words

I looked at my laptop hopelessly. This was my third time going through the same chapter and I still could not get it. Physics has never been a strong point of mine. Why couldn't the world just have been like it is because it is. No laws, no formulas, no Einstein or Newton or whatever the fuck their names are. God this was so stressful. Not even my sister could help me much, an she got an A+ on her final exam.

I sighed and closed the laptop. When I started online school I expected it to be easier not harder. It was so damn stressful and everything else on top of that was just making it worse.

With Maihua out of my life I had no one to rant to and the way we ended thing just didn't sit right with me. I hated every second of what happened and every second since then.

On top of that my relationship with Max isn't even close to what it was before everything. There was little to no trust especially on my side, I just couldn't help but feel paranoid all though I didn't express it. We couldn't just talk without it getting awkward sooner or later. Hanging out was hard anyway since he was busy with a new job he got and I was busy with crying over schoolwork.

My family was busy as well everyone doing their own thing and not having time to notice how not okay I am. None of them even know about Maihua or Max. Even Emily who's usually know everything the second it happened was way to busy with planning moving out to Cali.

I pulled my knees up to my chest and pushed my head in between them starting to silently cry. I had control over it until my phone started ringing. I looked up for a second seeing it was from Max. I started sobbing and shaking. I couldn't help but basically yell out. Thank god my room was quite separated from the others and not a lot of my family was home anyway. I mean both sisters were out shopping or whatever and my dad was working. My mom was probably somewhere doing something as well, too busy to care about my sad ass.

I stopped sobbing. My body was still shaking and my mind was going places I didn't want it to be. Places that I left a long time ago, never to visit again. But I did. I visited again and it was scarier than ever. Voices filled my head a few telling me that I'm a failure, that everyone is so tired of my shit, that my assault was my fault. But the majority were telling me to just die. I looked towards the door that lead to the bathroom I shared with my sister. My eyes traveled to my bedside table where I still kept it. The small pocket knife I was supposed to throw away when I got better.

My legs seemed to have a mind of their own. Or mabye they didn't. Mabye I was willingly making my way to the pocket knife. Mabye I was willing going to slit my wrists like I used to.

It's just a coping mechanism right? It may not be healthy, but what else am I going to do? Nothing else seems to help so why shouldn't I? I need to cope somehow.

I held the knife in my hand and looked at the blade as it slid out when I opened it. It was just as sharp as when I got it, not really ever cutting through anything too tough for it. I kept my eyes on it as I made my way to the bathroom. I opened the door and made my way to the mirror, finnaly taking my eyes off the blade and focusing them on my tear stained face. I cringed at the sight of myself, hating it more than ever. It almost hurt me to know that the worthless waste of space infront of me was me. Instead it more so disappointed and disgusted me.

I looked back down at the blade amd turned my wrist around. Scars from the past were still visible, but only the really deep ones. The others have faded long ago.

I traced down the scars, not pushing through my skin yet. I relaxed slightly but I was nowhere near satisfied. I pressed the blade against my skin once again, this time pushing down harder. I made the first cut slow and deep. I smiled at the line of blood it left. I continued cutting making each cut slow and satisfying. I watched blood slowly start to drip down my forearm. I moved my arm above the sink to make cleaning at least a little easier.

After a bunch of cuts in both arms, just high enough to not be visible from under my sleves, I washed the blood off the blade and my skin. I cleaned up the sink and placed, whatever nearest fabric I could find that would work well enough for bandages, onto my arms to stop myself from bleeding out. I wasn't depressed enough to kill myself yet.