The carpet is plush beneath my bare feet as I cross our bedroom to make my way into the master bathroom.
I don’t bother to close the door as I cross over the threshold onto the tile of the bathroom.
The entire room gleams under the harsh light in shades of stark white and slate gray, the faint scent of bleach still lingering from when I cleaned the tub a few days ago.
When I catch my reflection in the mirror, I pause. My skin is pale, my long hair a tangled mess, and the dark circles beneath my eyes so purple they resemble bruises.
It’ll all be over soon, I tell myself. My last look at my reflection should probably feel more significant, but all I feel is that same numbness overshadowed by the relief that this is the end.
The hinges of the medicine cabinet squeak as I open it, and my eyes zero in on the razorblades on the top shelf.
Despite my certainty in what I’m about to do, my pulse still surges as I set the box on the counter and pull out the thin metal blade. It feels lighter than it should.
I sink onto my knees beside the bathtub, turn the handle all the way to the left, and watch the hot water fill the tub, steam rising from the surface and warming my face. The warmth seeps into my skin, and I close my eyes. For a briefmoment, the voice in my mind whispers,you don’t have to do this.
Yes, I do.
When I turn the water off, the silence is deafening, broken only by the slowingdrip-drip-dripfrom the faucet like a ticking clock. I only filled the tub a few inches deep, but it’s enough.
With the blade pinched between my fingers, I dip my shaking hands beneath the scalding water. I’m not sure why. Maybe I just want to feel one last thing before I die.
My wrists look so delicate beneath the water's surface, pale blue veins visible through delicate, translucent skin. When I pull them out, my skin is pink, and droplets glide along the edge of the razor blade before dripping back into the water.
Well, here goes nothing.
I pinch the blade tightly, take a deep breath, and slice it down my forearm.
The cut stings less than I expected—at least at first. A thin red line appears, barely visible at first, then blooming into something more severe. The water before me turns pink, then deepens in color with every drop of blood as I make the second cut deeper, more determined this time. Then a third before switching which hand I hold the razor in and repeating the process on the other side.
The sharp, stinging pain shoots up my arm, and I suck in a sharp breath before biting down hard on my lip.
Fuck, that hurts.
Tears slip down my cheeks as the reality of the situation sets in, but I don’t bother wiping them away. It doesn’t matter anymore.Nothingmatters anymore.
The blade slips from my fingers and falls into the murkywater, and I watch, strangely detached, as my blood disperses through the bathwater like ink through paper.
My thoughts drift to Joel, and I catch myself thinking,He's going to be pissed if my blood stains the tub.
A laugh bubbles up in my chest. How completely fucked up that even now, bleeding out in our bathtub, I'm worried about inconveniencing him. As if my death is just another failure to uphold my wifely duties.
My heart pounds, and I shut my eyes. Everything feels too bright, too cold, toomuch.
I lean against the wall, keeping my arms hanging over the tub while blood drips from my fingertips, and am overcome by a sudden sense of shame.
What have I done?
I stare out the bathroom door into the bedroom, my consciousness slipping and thoughts blurring at the edges.
In the moments where I wait for my mind to slip away, sudden sobs wrack my body. How did I get here? There are so many things I could have done differently in life, so many choices I could have made that would’ve led me down a better path. Why didn’t I follow any of my dreams? Why didn’t I leave Joel when the first red flag popped up? How did I manage to become so trapped that death was my only option?
My life could have been so beautiful, if only I’d done things differently.
Movement flashes at the edge of my vision.
Then, he’s there, appearing as suddenly as he always does.
He stands in the corner of my bedroom, enveloped by the shadows, staring hard. For the first time, I see him clearly. Tall and dark-haired, dressed in all black, with sharp features and dark eyes that burn with intensity.
