The large bathtub is full to its edges in steaming water. As he steps into it, the water jumps and splashes over the sides.
His breath comes out in short patches, sounding rigid to his out ears. Tight knots build in his stomach. His gut feels as if it's being dragged into the depths of sorrow.
Slowly, with trembling hands, he picks up the silver razor. He glares at it for a long moment with dark eyes; the thought of fear nowhere in sight. He presses the jagged edge against his thin wrist, drawing blood.
It stings.
The pain seeps right to the bone.
Come on, boy. You deserve this. You're the one who pushed her over the edge.
You. Deserve. This. It hisses at him roughly.
The thought of death settles in his mind. His eyes glaze over. He drives the razor blade deep into his pale skin. The dark red blood leaks into the hot water, staining it.
Perrrfect . . . It purrs as he slips into unconsciousness.
