Maya's P.O.V
I cut deeper and deeper into my wrist as the blood continued to flow, making a smile appear on my face. You would probably call me sick, but I don't care. I've heard it all before. Nothing you say can make any difference. My knife is my friend. My only friend.
The blood covered my wrist and started to drop onto the tile floor of my bathroom. But it didn't stop me. I just kept cutting and cutting. I moved the knife to a different part of my wrist and moved the blade back and forth, slowing digging into the skin.
A pool of crimson blood was gathering on the floor at my feet. I put the knife down for a second and stared at the crimson. Was that really from me hurting myself? Was that really my blood? Was I really that one who put that blood there?
I've asked myself these questions over and over again. As I'm cutting I don't think anything of it. But once it's done, I hate what I did to myself. It sickens me to think that I was the one who put all of these scars on my skin. Yeah it's only my wrists, but if you saw my wrists you would realize that it's pretty bad. I would never dare cut anywhere but my wrists though, I can't hide it on any other part of my body.
Thighs might be a good spot if I wasn't forced to wear bathing suits all the time. My family makes me go on family trips with them and make me go swimming. I could do my stomach too but that would just have the same result.
So I just go with my wrists. I don't want anyone to know. No one can know. This is between me and my best friend.
My knife. I know I sound like a creeper but as of right now I don't care. Yes, my knife is my best friend. I don't have any other friends so my knife took their place. It calls my name and tell me that it will help me get away for a while. And I will do anything to get away. Even if it's just for a minute or two.
"Maya, we're leaving. We'll be back tomorrow!" my mother called up the stairs. "Someone will be here shortly to stay with you!" What? Why is someone staying with me? Do they not trust me or something? They don't know about my cutting do they?
I didn't bother saying anything back so I just kept digging the point of the knife into my left wrist. You're probably wondering why I was saying all this stuff about not letting anyone see my cuts, but I'm very clearly displaying them on my wrists.
Well, I'm not. I have a bunch of bracelets that I wear on my wrists everyday so no one sees my cuts. Whenever anyone asks me about them I just say some random thing they could represent. Or I say that I got them when I went on my family vacations. One bracelet for each vacation. Which is very possible because my family goes on a lot of vacations.
It wasn't long after my parents left that I heard a knock on the door. Crap! The blood was still flowing down my wrists and I had no way to stop it in such a short time. I quickly closed my bathroom door and changed into a long sleeve shirt and a sweatshirt over it. I really hope this works.
I walked down the stairs to the door and thought about who was coming. Who would it be? It better not be some old lady or a pedophile. I swear I would kill myself if that happened.
I got to the door and opened it to reveal a boy wearing a black KILLERS shirt and black straight jeans with black converse type shoes. He was wearing a gray beanie over his brown hair and I'll admit he didn't look bad. Is he the person staying with me?
"Hi, I'm Louis. You're Maya, right?" he greeted me. I nodded and shook his outstretched hand.
"So Louis, are you the one staying here with me?" I asked him. He nodded. "Well come on in." I stepped out of the way and let him in, just wishing that I could be alone.
"Well I'm gonna go upstairs. Help yourself to whatever," I told him and sprinted up the stairs. I didn't bother locking my door when I went into my room and that was probably a mistake. But I just needed my best friend.
I tore my sweatshirt off and pushed the sleeves of my long sleeve shirt up to my elbows. My knife slipped into my fingers and I smiled to myself as I pushed the tip into my wrist. I made a mark on it and then started moving the knife back and forth, cutting deep into my wrist.
Blood kept falling onto the tile floor and formed a bigger pool of crimson than before. I laughed in happiness and sliced my wrist up more. At some point I decided that my left wrist had enough and moved onto my right. Since I have to use my left hand to cut my right wrist, my right wrist usually ends up being worse than my left and the cuts are scattered all over the place. Sometimes the knife slips too but I don't mind.
It just makes the pain so much better. As I said before, you probably think I'm some creep right now you enjoys pain, and I can't disagree, but just keep your thoughts to yourself. I've been told before that I'm a creep, and that's from people who don't know I cut. Which is pretty much everyone.
Everyone except for my best friend of course. My best friend doesn't get mad at me about it. He just encourages me. He tells me that he can help me. So I let him. I let him cut my wrists, knowing I'll regret it later on. I just can't help it.
Believe me, I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't cause self harm but I can't seem to stop. I've tried many times but my knife just keeps calling my name. And I can't help but listen to him. I can't help but take him into my grip and put the blade up to my wrists and dig deep into them. As I cut, all of my worries disappear and the only pain is physical. And I like it.
To see the blood drip from my skin excites me. It makes me cut more. Sometimes I can't stop myself and the only way I can stop is if my mom yells to me or my dad comes banging on my door.
Even then it's hard to actually to stop. It's hard and I know I need help. But I just can't bring myself to tell anyone. I can't let anyone but my best friend know. If I tell anyone else they'll call me a freak and put me in a mental hospital. Even though you would probably classify me as a mental person, I don't belong there. I don't belong in a mental hospital. If I go I know I will either find a way to escape, or I will kill myself. And it wouldn't take long for that to happen.
I would need my best friend. I can't live without my best friend. In a mental hospital, you don't get your best friend. All you get is a white room and crazy pills.
Speaking of rooms, I would like to take this moment to tell you about my room. When someone steps into my room, they get scared. Not because I have these creepy things in there or anything but for other reasons.
My color theme is blood red and black, although they are far from my favorite colors. On my walls I have drawings that I've done. A lot of them are of me laying in a pool of blood or having a knife to my wrist or something like that. That's usually the part that scares people.
Even seeing that, my parents don't catch on. They're really not that bright. Anyway, I have the normal things that you would find in someones room. My clothes aren't all black or anything though. They're actually bright. I have pinks, blues, greens, purples, all the colors. I don't have much black stuff except for a few things.
My bed is a bunk bed with the bottom part gone. I forget what those things are called but whatever. I have a shelf next to my bed so when I'm laying in bed I can take my knife and cut. Of course I have a wash cloth there too so I can keep the blood in one place and no one will see it. I have my phone there too and a radio. A few CDs and that's about it.
Now, back to my cutting. I just kept making more slices in my wrist and I slipped a few times and accidentally cut a little further up my arm. Let's just hope that won't make a scar. How would I explain that?
As I started to cut again, deeper this time, my knife was ripped out of my hand and I flipped myself around to see Louis standing there with my best friend in his hand. I so badly wanted to take back my knife but held back from doing so. Louis' expression told me that he was a mixture of shocked, mad, confused, and sad. Why would he be sad though? He has absolutely no idea who I am. He's never met me until today and I pretty much just blew him off.
I snapped out of my thoughts by Louis screaming.
"What are you doing!?" he screamed.
