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My hands moved involuntarily, slipping to my jeans and pushing them off my hips. I dropped down to the bathroom floor, pressing my back to the tub as I clutched the knife in my hand.
It was a bad idea.
But it could be worse, couldn’t it?
I could be sneaking out, getting drunk, getting into all kinds of trouble. At least I was here, safe in the Ford’s house. I wouldn’t go too far. Just enough to give me that burst of relief again. Just enough to chase away the oppressive weight crushing my chest.
My legs fell open, the soft skin of my thighs visible. I dragged the tip of the knife along the fleshy part of my inner thigh, angling it just enough that the blade pressed into my skin. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as a war raged inside me. I just wanted it to stop.
I just wanted to breathe…
An anguished cry slipped from my lips as I dug the knife harder, slicing my skin open. Blood pooled there, another cry rolling off my tongue as a shudder ripped through me. It hurt, but the release… the release was like a rush of euphoria flowing through me.
My eyes shuttered as I dropped my head back and expelled a shaky breath. I felt lighter than I had in days. But the second my eyes opened, landing on the blood trickling down my thigh, the feeling became edged with shame.
What the hell was I doing?
The knife clattered to the tiles as the tears came thick and fast, a violent storm sweeping me away, tearing me in two.
On the one hand, I felt better. The endorphins chased away the constant torrent of emotions swelling inside me. And on the other hand, I felt disgusted at myself. But as the trickle of blood slowed and my breathing returned to normal, the high dissipated and the shame simmered leaving me numb once more.
