I glance at the plate on the nightstand, and the sandwich Amira made me for lunch. I hate that she’s trying so hard to help but thatI’m incapable of accepting it. She should just give up and stop wasting her time on me. I’m hopeless.
It’s been hours since I last spoke, my throat feels raw and my mouth like sand. I should drink something, but I can’t be bothered to get up and fetch a glass of water.
Do it,the voice in the back of my head echoes.
I don’t know.
What do you have to lose? Just do it. You’ll feel better.
It’s true. It always made me feel better despite the guilt.
Heaving a sigh, I push the covers off me and climb out of the bed. The appartement is eerily quiet as I slip into the bathroom and turn on the lights. The sudden brightness makes me wince and forces me to shut my eyes. I blink to adjust them to the luminosity.
Skipping my reflection in the mirror, I head for the cabinet and grab the box of razor blades. The thin and sharp pieces of metal stare back at me, whispering cruel words as I pick one and shove the box back into the cabinet.
I expected Amira to have hidden these, but I guess she has too much faith in me. What a mistake.
Go on. Do it.
I plop down against the cold wall and slide my left sleeve up. The remains of my last punishment shoots through my forearm in a straight white line. A long line like a silver wire.
For a minute, dipped in deafening silence, I just watch it, caressing the soft scarred skin.
What’s wrong? Why are you hesitating?
I don’t know.
Then do it. You’ll feel better,it taunts.
I position the sharp side of the blade onto my wrist and this time I draw a horizontal cut, letting out a sob as the skin breaks. My hand trembles and I almost drop the blade.
Better, right?
No.Yes.
It hurts, stings, and burns, but it feels right. I deserve this more than I ever deserved kindness.
My body moves on its own and sinks the sharp metal into my flesh again, right next to the first cut. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep myself from crying out loud.
I don’t want the girls to see me like this.
Watching the blood flow and trickling down my wrist and onto my hand, I lean my head against the wall and sigh. The fog clouding my mind dissipates as drop after drop lands on the white polished floor.
I don’t know what time it is. Is it the evening already? I think I heard some noise behind the door. I’m not even sure if anyone’s home and I doubt it would change much at this point.
I don’t know anything anymore.
I frown when a chill overtakes my body and my vision blurs momentarily. That’s usually the sign to bandage the wound. I reach for the med kit in one of the shelves and disinfect the cuts before patching them up and wiping the floor with toilet paper and water.
***
Blinking slowly, I open my eyes and find someone near the doorframe of my room. I catch the time on the digital clock. 08:37p.m. Rum spice and musk tickle my nostrils as he sits down on the floor next to the bed.
My eyes follow each movement as he leans back against the wooden nightstand and looks at me, softly and fragmented. “Amira called me.”
I don’t reply and blankly stare at his bloodshot honey eyes. Has he been crying? Whatever, I don’t care. It’s all his fault.
But is it, though?
