Page 137 of So I'll Know
But you promised him.
“Just one cut.”
But he doesn’t want you.
I carefully place the blade on the counter and take off my shoes and jeans so that I’m standing in my T-shirt and boxers. I swallow, skimming my fingers over my stomach before I pull the edge of my elastic waistband down and study the damaged skin. The raised scar is already marred by an angry red scratch that’s starting to scab over. I pick away the clots, watching in fascination as the blood starts to ooze again.
I need more.
My heart hammers in my chest, and my stomach rolls. I pick up the blade and hold it against the scar, feeling a sting of pain as I apply some pressure. I drag it across my flesh with intention, feeling ragged relief as red wetness wells up in its wake and dribbles down my thigh, soaking into the fabric of my boxers.
But the reprieve is fleeting.
I need more.
I cut again, deeper this time, tears blurring the bathroom around me. The pain is more intense, but it also feels so good.
More.
More.
More.
I cut deep.
Too deep.
I drop the blade, and it skitters across the floor toward the tub, leaving bright red smears on the tile.
Yet I’m still anxious.
My heart hurts. My head aches. My legs feel restless and itchy, and I scratch at them and pound on my thighs with my fists.
The pressure is too much. It’s squeezing my chest. My limbs feel heavy.
A sharp pain runs up my arm.
Am I having a heart attack?
I drop to the floor and stare at my trembling hand; it’s slick with blood. I look down. It’s puddled all over the floor, seeping into the tile grout.
Why is there so much blood? What did you do?
Toothless’s needy cry pulls me from my stupor, and I scramble to my knees, push him from the bathroom, slam the door, and flick the lock.
I fall back onto the cool floor, and my stomach rolls as the room spins. My mouth waters, and I lean over the toilet and gag, almost blacking out as I gasp and choke around the bitter bile in my throat. When the nausea passes, I slump back to the floor, the copper smell overwhelming as my cheek slides against the thick, sticky liquid.
I’m so cold.
Marcus is going to be upset. I told him I wouldn’t ever do this. That I would talk to him before I hurt myself.
I’m sorry.
But he’s gone. He doesn’t want you.
Everything starts to fade, and the edges of my vision waver. Something’s wrong. I did something bad, and I should be scared. But I’m not because it’s quieter now. More peaceful. At least in the suffocating darkness, I can finally rest.
MARCUS
