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She looked at me as if I were an insect under her microscope and at the time I definitely didn’t want her attention on me.

“I did everything to give you a better life, don’t throw the depression bullshit at me. Fix yourself, Elara.”

I tried.

God, I tried.

But I couldn’t fix myself.

That night, the urge to hurt myself swallowed everything else. I was seeing red, and all I wanted was to find the white—to make it all stop.

The only white I found was the sterile glare of hospital lights when I woke the next morning. Not remembering what happened the night before.

That was three years ago.

Almost three years later I told her that I need to apply for college, and she sat me down, her hands grabbing mine in a firm grip. We were sisters after all; we had to stick through thick and thin.

“I hope you’re doing okay.” Translation: She hopes I’ve fixed myself.

She wanted me to say yes; humans will do anything to avoid feeling remorse. So, I nodded.

The smile I flashed came easily to me, and I made sure to leave her convinced before I left for Oxfordshire, for her peace of mind.

When I received the acceptance letter from Kingsford University a few months later, my sister wasn’t happy about the decision, in fact she wanted me to go anywhere but here.

But we weren’t big on communication, and parted ways nonetheless.

We don’t call each other, we rarely text, as if I never had a sister and she never had a burden.

I made a promise to myself and wanted to go through with it, but it was getting really hard every second.

The first cut was the hardest, getting started always is.

I try to breathe and fail; the sight of blood is making me lose my mind. I don’t want to see it but didn’t risk cutting too deep either.

My inner thighs had small white lines, however, they weren’t quite visible unless someone was intentionally searching for them.

The red colour is really making me sweat but I can instantly feel my panic subside, my body getting numb as the blood gushes out of tiny cuts.

I am weak, I gave in.

I’m pathetic.

I don’t deserve to live. I don’t want to live.

But it’s peaceful now. My mind is blank, and the only sound I can hear is my ragged breathing, slowly turning into deep breaths as I watch the blood trickle down my body.

Let me feel this.

I promise I will never do it again.

Never. Again.

EIGHT

Sergei

Elara didn’t show up.