She sat in the corner of the room, knees tucked up and body curled around. The tears slowly fell down her cheeks leaving wet glistening trails. She could hear the sound of her family laughing downstairs. The picture perfect family. All she wants is for someone to come and save her. To wrap their arms around her crying body and whisper to her that everything will be alright. She just wants to be loved. Is that so bad? She tries so hard to be what they want and it's never enough.

She's not smart enough.
She's not pretty enough.
She's not skinny enough.

She reaches for the blade. It glints in the deep orange light of the setting sun. She drags the cool metal against the warmth of her thighs and she feels better. Like all of her pain is slowly leaking out of her body through the cut with her shiny red blood. She wants to feel something. Anything. Because feeling pain is better than feeling the numbness that grips her heart so hard making her chest hurt. She just wants to be loved.

She takes a tissue and wipes away the evidence. Like wiping a slate clean. You have to be careful, do it where no one can see. It's just like life; you can hide your true self. Hide it with clothes, hide it with a smile. No one would ever know how close she comes each time she uses the blade.

One day they will find her lying dead, blade in hand. No one will understand, friends will never realise and teachers will never now the pain that she felt. And she will lie there and when they find her they will see the evidence of their cruel words and actions. Red lines will decorate the skin. Some deep, some shallow, but each of them relating to a pain that they caused and she felt. She just wanted to be loved.