All torn & Mixed up

Run Boy Run

I slammed against the door, heavy and metal it easily stopped me. I wrapped my dirt cover fingers around the handle. Yanking at it gave no result either. It was locked from inside. Part of me wanted to stay, didn't want to leave Lucy.
How could she do this ? How could she just give up her own life and let me get away. After everything she had been through, I would have thought anything but this. I would have expected her to drag me down with her. And I would have gone too.
Inside me voices screamed, perhaps my subconscious or something else.
One was yelling at me, telling me she wasn't worth it. And that I only felt this way out of guilt.
Was that really true? Did I just feel bad for her because of all the pain i'd caused? But how, I couldn't have made up feelings for some one. I pushed the thought away. Feelings or no feelings, she was still some one who needed my help.
Turning around I ran into the woods. Just a small patch of tree and I stumbled onto a road. A car drove by and I waved my arms.
Thank god they stopped. "Can you give Me a ride into the city?" I asked, hastily jumping into the car. The older gentleman driving nodded, "where In the city?"

The drive seemed to take ages, like I was driving all the way home Cincinnati. But finally the man pulled the car to a stop, I thanks him but left in a rush. Bounding up the stairs I slammed a fist down on the door, giving it a few loud knocks.
A blonde haired blue eyed girl answered the door, sleepy and rubbing her eyes. Maybe just waking up from a nap. Her eyes lost the sleep, and became very wide. "Mark?!" She looked out the door, to the left and then the right. "I heard you and Lucy made up, where is she?" Ashley added when she didn't see her friend.
I hung my head for a minute. She must have read the letter David had left in our absence. I knew it wasn't true, Lucy and I were not back together. And I had a strange feeling that would never happen.
"Ashley, I need your help"
Ashley let me in and I explained everything in detail. She shook her head " I knew her past might catch up to her eventually, but not this badly."
Ashley's hands trembled as she picked up her drink. "Are you alright?" I asked. She nodded "I'm...I'm worried about her...she's very strong. But I'm Afraid she won't make it out this time. She's struggled a lot, for a long time...." Ashley stood abruptly and left. Returning a moment later with a small box. She opened it in front of me, inside was a roll of bandage rapping, like the kind you wrapped around a cast, spongy and absorbent.
And a razor blade.
"After she came out of the comma, she started cutting again."
I blinked in confusion "but I've see her wrists, the only cut is the old one from the last time she was being held hostage. " Ashley closed the box. "The wrist isn't the only place. Come on. She walked over to a dark cabinet and opened it with a code. Pulling out two guns, she handed one to me. It felt heavy, and strange in my hands.
"I didn't know you to be the type to shoot guns" she laughed "I'm not, Lucy insisted I learn how, and keep them here for protection. We'll need them to rescue her."
*Lucy's POV*

"Tell me why, why do you care so much about him?" David asked, sitting on the metal framed bed. He seemed to think it was ok to invade my room at all times. And frankly I didn't care at this point.
I simply answered his babbling questions. "He is a good man. He doesn't deserve my misery. Neither does anyone else. I won't force my pain and troubles on him.
He needs to find himself a girl who will take care of him and love him."
David, who seemed more empathetic, and less insane than his father, more reasonable, snorted.
"I'm no psychologist, but ain't that exactly what you were doing?"
"Maybe, but I was not worth the trouble."
"Wow, you have got a very low opinion of yourself. To bad, my father had good taste at least. Oh, here's that razor you asked for, don't go killing yourself though. That's my job. "
I took the blade from his hand, as soon as he left, I slashed it, drawing Crimson red tears from under my skin. It stung, but felt good. It was something I could control. Up until I met Rick all those years ago, I had wondered what pushed those people to the edge, the ones who cut, who killed themselves. Why didn't they just pick themselves up and be happy? Then I finally understood. I slashed again, this on was deeper, I knew it would bleed longer. I liked seeing the red drops, it comforted me. Letting me know I could still have some control of what I felt.
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