Fuck, my head hurts. My shoulders hurt. I hurt.
I try to think past the noise, but the sound of my heart gets in the way.
Just get through this.
Just get through this.
That’s all I have to do, just…
Get through.
I rest my back against the door, my last shield against the outside world, and let my head fall back against it with a softthud. I don’t even feel it. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire. I need to make it stop. I need it to stop. I need to…
My head snaps to the side at the thought. I can’t. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again. But it’ll make it stop… just for a second. Just enough to breathe.
The familiar whisper slithers through my mind, and I drop my head into my hands. The silence is deafening, the warm wood of the door too hot against my back. Too many memories are clawing their way to the surface. Too many images I’ve spent years trying to bury. A voice I never wanted to hear again echoes in the darkest corners of my mind. Everything is too much.
Then… nothing.
That’s when everything goes still inside me. The noise in my head cuts out, as if someone has pulled the plug. Where there was heat and panic, there is now cool and quiet.
Fears quickly drain away, leaving a hollow cavern behind. The room in front of me is still there, exactly as it was before. But something is different. I’m different. My body feels distant. I’m still here but attached by a tether. My arms feel light. The pressure in my shoulders barely registers. When I lift my hand in front of my face, the movement feels delayed, like I’m watching someone else do it. Like it doesn’t belong to me.
When my legs move, lumbering my body forward, they’re slow, like walking through thick mud and quicksand. I’m not telling them to move. Or am I? I don’t know.
I exist, but I’m not really here. My body moves towards the bathroom, carefully opening the door. I glimpse myself in the mirror, and I barely recognize the woman staring back at me. Her eyes are red and hollow, a stark contrast to her pale white skin. She looks familiar, like someone I’ve not seen in a long time.
I rummage through the bottom drawer of the cabinet, and I find it. I’m vaguely aware of a voice in the far distance—my voice—telling me to stop. I ignore it.
I drag the razor across my arm. The familiar burning sting makes me release a breath I think I must have been holding for months. The sensation slices through the numbness like white-hot fire. My breath catches and releases in a long, shaky exhale. The pressure in my chest loosens. I cut once more, and my shoulders drop, the pain disappearing, leaving a slight ache in its wake.
With each drop of blood that hits the tile floor, I feel myself return to center. The room sharpens again. Colors deepen. Sounds return, and my heartbeat steadies. I can finally fucking breathe. Everything settles into something manageable, and I close my eyes for a second, letting it wash over me.
I slide to the floor, letting my head fall back against the tub. I press a hand towel against my arm, the sting from the old, scratchy material making me wince. My thoughts slowly come back to me. Organized with a new sense of clarity.
This time is different. This time, everything will be okay. I will tell Elias everything, and he’ll help me. Ihaveto trust that he cares about me. I won’t go back, and I don’t think he would let me go back. And I don’t want to leave him.
I would burn this entire city to its core before I ever let anyone hurt you.
He said that. To me. He said that to me. He won’t let me go back.
The memory of his voice wraps around my mind, filling me with warmth. Tears fall silently and drift down my chin and pool onto my chest. He fucking cares about me.
Resolve fills me, and I move to get up, swaying slightly. I pull the red towel away from my arm and go to drop it in the hamper.
Wait… wasn’t that towel white?
Holding it in both hands, I press my fingers into the fabric. It’s heavier and warmer than it should be. My grip tightens slightly, and something wet seeps between my fingers. I blink down at it, my mind suddenly slow, trying to catch up with the picture in front of me. Too much red.
Not a red towel. Fucking blood.
I look down at my arm and the small pool of blood that’s accumulating on the floor, and my world tilts.
Something’s not right. There’s too much blood.
I study my arm and see two deep cuts. Deeper than I usually cut.
Fuck.
