"Ba-bump..ba-bump.."
My pulse can be felt so clearly through my torn-up leg. Though I'm wearing my knee-highs and jeans, I feel like people all of a sudden acquired X-Ray vision. It's probably just me. I'm just paranoid because I broke my promise. Again. I could've sworn those freshmen just looked at the cuts hidden beneath my clothes! Stupid freshmen. How did they know? Do they see the pain in my eyes? Did my bandages bleed through again? How did they find out?!
Grabbing my pajamas, I turn the door handle, ready for my shower. Then I stop, remembering that tomorrow is my birthday; I should give myself a present. After all, no one will be able to notice. I'm practically invisible at school.
I turn and dig through my jewelry box for my blade under Shiloh's watchful eyes. Thank god he's a dog, or I'd be screwed! I grab my blade; Oh, how I've missed you!
In the shower, I decide to shave my legs, knowing full well that once I leave the bathroom, I'll be unable to shave for a couple of weeks, depending on the pain.
I dry off and sit in the chair next to the counter. Taking a deep breath, I make the first cut. God, I feel better already. Of course, one cut turns into many cuts. Soon, the whole side of my calf is covered in my blood.
The rush of adrenaline in my body is exhilarating; turning the toilet paper a bloody red. I know I should try to staunch the fluid, my life support, but my arms refuse to move, not that I'm refusing their resistance much anyway. So my leg bleeds. And bleeds. And bleeds. And I like it...
It's like the weed. And the overdoses. I know I shouldn't, but I don't care. My body doesn't care. It wants more bloodshed, more pain. My eyes are actually entertained at by watching the life flow out of me. Strange as that sounds, it's true. I feel relaxed when my leg goes red, when I feel weak and faint. It makes me feel high. It makes me believe I'm beautiful, that I can do anything, be anyone I want to be. When you look like me, that's a rare feeling. So I cherish every moment I have dancing with my death. I try to get it more often. My drug, my alcohol, my cigarette, when they aren't handy. Which is a lot of the time, mind you. But, back to my point, I broke my promise again. For the billionth time. So I'm not making it again.
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