Sleeves

11

On Tuesday I walked into the auditorium after school. In the back I heard something. Like ticking noises. I turned on the lights and it was him. And the "bitch I don't need to worry about." They were kissing. In my place. The only place I had to go to feel safe. He looked up and saw me. The bitch Tracey wanted to keep the lip lock going but he pushed away, sending her crashing down, hitting her head on a chair. I ran out the door and outside into the chilly, spring air. He tried to run after me but by the time he was by my car I was pulling out of the parking lot, speeding towards home. I tore through the door and ran to the bathroom. I opened my art box with the razor in it. I looked at my left wrist. The one that he had marked. I promised, but he lied. I slit the wrist, pressing too hard. My stomach flipped when I realized what happened. The contents of my stomach spilled into the toilet. I walked, dazed, into my room, which was spinning. My wrist was dramatically loosing blood. I stood on the bed, my comforter turning red, and ripped the stars off of my ceiling. I tore at it but fell to the carpeted floor, wrapped in the paper like a blanket. My vision was becoming blurry. Just then Angel crashed through my door. He lifted me into his arms, the arms wrapped around Tracey. The arms I didn't want to be in anymore. I pushed off of him, getting blood on his white shirt. Too much white, too much red. I couldn't breathe. Then I blacked out