I bolted up the stairs, completely focused on the task at hand. I made it to the bathroom in no time, slamming it shut and locking it behind me. Shit. I shouldn't have slammed it. Maybe he'll just think I'm pissed at him.
Truth be told, I was pissed at him, but I knew it was for all the wrong reasons. There was no valid explanation. I wished I hadn't been weirdly transported to this new, unfamiliar place, this new house that was uncomfortably cheerful, this town that went by the same name as my own. I wished this mystery man named Jughead hadn't shown up at my door unannounced, the "government" sending him to assist me in my transition. The government in Riverdale never did that. Not the Riverdale that I knew.
I was losing my fucking mind. I was spiraling, and more than was usual. My life was changing all too rapidly, not helping the current situation improve. Being finally isolated once again, I allowed the tears to slip from my green eyes that always flooded with sorrow and disapproval of my own self.
It was all to much. It always was, but this extra amount of weight on my shoulders that was seemingly trying to hold my back just pushed me instead to do the things that everyone is willed against, seeing as I was the perfect, compliant girl that everyone thought they knew.
⚠️TW⚠️
I'd had enough. Without thinking twice, without hesitation, I let the knife slide out from beneath my sleeve, clinking on the floor as it fell. The sudden break in the silence didn't phase me. My world was full of constant noise.
Routinely, I absentmindedly brought the knife against my soft, tender skin. I took in a shallow, shaky breath as I let my hand drag it across my skin, ignoring the sting that arose. I released. I let the blood represent my sins that my mother led me to believe that I was composed of, trying to detoxify my body of them. My mother's words had been strong and effective, no matter how much I hated her and wanted to disprove every word she uttered or yelled.
I watched it drip onto the floor beside me, it keeping a steady tempo. The scarlet-red mesmerizing me, telling me that this was right, this was what I deserved. This is the only way you can be fixed. This is how to take the pain away. All of the suffering, the sins, the tragedies of life; they'll vanish. That was the delusion I lived in.
The tempo of the blood picked up the pace, the plopping sound of the drips reoccurring once every half a second. The pain never subsided. Just wait, I told myself. This will work. It has to. It never had, but there was a first time for everything; the only optimism I ever held at the time.
The dizziness began to kick in, though it had only been a mere minute or two. I could feel the blood rushing through my veins, hurrying to cover up the several gashes and wounds that climbed up my left arm. I could feel as the energy drained within me. The negative energy, I let myself believe. This is good.
Though I hadn't realized how loud I'd been.
The stairs thumped through the walls, the sound of hurried footsteps rushing over to my bedroom. The door swung open, hitting the wall. I heard it. It was all too clear, but so faint at the same time.
He pounded on the door, shouting my name at the top of his lungs as if his life depended on it. Funny. Funny to think that he cares. Pathetic. I continued, ignoring his protests and desperate calls for entry. I drew one more line across my delicate skin, concluding that 25 cuts should be sufficient. That should do it. This should be enough to do what needed to be done.
The door fell to the ground with a crash. I whirled my head around, knife still in hand against my arm as I saw Jughead still standing mid-kick. He rushed to my side, chucking the knife that I weakly held across the bathroom, panicking as he witness what I had inflicted onto myself before lunging to the cabinets below the sink.
