Why did they have to take away my scissors? Couldn't they have left me some implement to release the agony I felt?
I dumped the contents of my desk draw onto the floor of my bedroom. It was a futile effort I knew, but I still held the hope that something had been missed as I shoved things aside, digging through my possessions.
Nothing! I flinched at the word, remembering how only hours before it had brought me severe pain.
I sighed and collapsed to the ground, looking at the mess in front of me. Clothes, books, pencils, paper, everything had been pulled out of its place and tossed onto the floor. All in vain. I couldn't find a single pair of scissors. No sharpener. Not even a lighter was to be found in my bedroom.
I gripped fistfuls of hair and pulled painfully as I let out another sob.
"Why?!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I didn't care if someone heard me. Not that there was anyone to hear me. Trina was still at school. Where my parents were I had no clue. So much for keeping an eye on their juvenile delinquent. They take away my scissors, they lock up the knives but don't give a damn about the reason behind the mutilation? They didn't care. No one did. Not anymore.
I looked around the room again and before I gave up, my eyes landed on the door joining my bedroom to the bathroom.
Of course! I jumped up and practically sprinted to the small room. Inside the first draw under the sink, I found what I was looking for: a brand new packet of disposable razor blades. My saviour!
I dashed back into my bedroom and made sure to lock the doors behind me. I did not want to be walked in on. Not again.
I tried to pry the blades out of their casing with my nails but only ended up with small paper-cut sized splits on my fingers. I tried smacking the things against my carpeted floor, with even less promising results. Frustration threatened to overwhelm me again, and I threw the thing across the room, yelling out more curses than I knew was in my vocabulary.
Sighing, I realized there was really only one way to break the thing. Slipping out of my room, I hurried back downstairs and outside. After making sure no one was spying on me, I grabbed the hammer before heading back to smash the thing to pieces.
I put the hammer down and picked up one of the thin blades, looking it over. It was slightly bent, but it would do. I wasn't going to kill myself, I didn't have a death wish. But the pain...
I clawed at my chest as another panic attack threatened to take me over. Quickly I rolled up my sleeves to reveal my scar ridden arms. I ran my thumb over them, marvelling at the feeling of the tiny bumps under my fingertips, the simple act sending warmth to my stomach.
I had never used a razor blade to cut before, so I was a little worried about going too far. I lightly pressed the blade against my skin and slid it slowly across my wrist. A small white mark was left, but I was extremely disappointed at the lack of pain caused by the thin piece of metal. Again I tried, pressing harder this time. I could see it had gone deeper, but no blood escaped. I wondered if the scars were preventing it from working. Swapping to the other arm, I pressed the blade into my skin, harder this time and I could feel the pressure it caused. I sliced it across. Again, I felt nothing.
My panic attack was getting worse. I cried, I sobbed, I yelled until my voice was hoarse. I tried cutting my arms up again, and again, and again to no avail.
Pure fear coursed through my shaking body and my breath caught in my throat as cried. I couldn't breathe! My throat had closed off! I tried to suck in air but found it blocked. I could still breath out, but not in!
I pulled at my shirt, aware that it was not strangling me, but yanked it off anyway, leaving me in nothing but my bra. My vision was becoming clouded, and I bent over on all fours, trying desperately to breathe. It took less than a second for my airway to open up and precious oxygen filled my lungs. I took a deep breath and the attack began to subside.
I sat back with relief and closed my eyes, feeling the tears run onto my bare chest as I cried quietly. And then it happened. A sharp ache hit both of my arms at once, making me jump. I looked at my arms and was shocked to find them covered in small cuts. Blood seeped out the wounds, faster than I would have expected and I could feel the sharp stinging sensation of each and every one.
The pain in my chest dulled and I sighed in relief, glad to finally feel some release. It would be back, sooner than I would like, but at least for a few minutes I could enjoy the numbness.
I lay down on top of the pile of clothes and watched the red liquid trickle down my arms. It was interesting to watch, the red waterfall of precious liquor, flowing with such beauty I was not aware existed.
And then I noticed it: none of the cuts seemed to be healing. I started to wonder if I'd made too many.
My head felt light. This made me happy. My arms were numb. My chest was numb. The pain from earlier gone. I let out a strangled laugh as I remembered that my phone was still sitting on the floor of the school.
"Oops." I giggled. "Maybe Beck will see the photo of Jade kissing me and break up with her." I laughed at that. She deserved it. She made me fall in love with her, then threw me away like I was a piece of rubbish.
I laughed again and turned onto my back.
"I can see the stars..." I mumbled, closing my eyes and pointing to the ceiling. As the blood from my arm hit my face, it occurred me that I was probably going to die.
Oh well. At least she can't hurt me anymore. I thought.
The last thing I heard before passing out, was a quiet pounding. Damn.