I was in a haze. Nothing made sense anymore. I was a spiral staircase, spinning out of control with my negative thoughts about myself and the world around me. Looking back I couldn’t even pin point a specific thought but one: I needed Harry.
I did the only thing I knew was left.
I went to get a razor.
I looked myself in the mirror when I got to the bathroom. Baggy t-shirt, dark red lipstick, smudged eye makeup; I looked pathetic. “I am pathetic." I mouthed to myself, staring blankly at my reflection.
I started cutting and cutting and cutting.
I didn’t even feel pain, that’s how used to it I was.
I eventually made my way back to my bed. Maybe I was still bleeding, maybe not. I quite frankly didn’t care. All of a sudden, I heard my door open and a familiar precious voice echoed through the small space of my bedroom. Soon, Harry was in view. I was not expecting him back until next week. He looked puzzled but then he focused on something: my wrists.
Harry then leaped forward toward my bed side with one knee landing on the left side of me and the other dangling off the bed. His face was centimeters away from mine and I could smell his crisp minty breath.
My eyes focused on his. They were a scary green; dark and not the ones I knew.
Our intense gaze was interrupted by a surprising yell, “Who did this to you?!" his voice boomed.
His eyes were searching for some sort of answer.
“Who made you do this?! Tell me! So help me God I’ll…I’ll…"
“C’mon who are they?!" The last sentence came out softly in contrast to his yelling. He eyes then changed. He knew the answer.
He moved his body off the bed quickly and walked into the hallway outside my door and I could hear swearing and him banging his fist against something. I started sobbing helplessly..