Blood Stains and Burn Marks

Chapter 16

I ponder around my room for several more hours after Tate left. With each passing second I feel my heart race as the throb in my veins grows. I wish this could all go away. Sounds in my head scream at me to stop fighting. To just let go and let me be where I belong. For the longest time I couldn't picture them being right, but now I don't see any other way. My parents are gone, my sister as well, and Tate...my sweet Tate...he can't even look at me anymore without wanting to rip out my throat and watch me bleed as I grasp for whatever air I can manage. I don't have anyone anymore.

Mrs. Clarke told me when feelings like this arise I'm suppose to close my eyes, take a deep breath and shut them out. But it doesn't work. It never does. And every day I sit there and watch her with her fake smile and delicate fingers, writing away my problems like if she did they would just unravel from my soul, found a home on the whiskey stained papers and leave me alone completely. But I found out long ago that homes aren't material based but instead found in people. And that's awfully dangerous because sometimes you have a paper heart and all people really want to do is play with fire. And they don't care if you get burned as long as they're warm and safe. And sure they'll cry after you're gone, wishing they could of done something, but that fire that you left still burns in their soul and regardless of how bad they feel, they won't put it out. Tate won't put out mine either. Maybe that's why every time I see him it feels like I'm dying, washed away like an old term memory that was left a little too long on repeat. I wonder if he feels that too.

I look down at my hands, still shaking like the after math of a train wreck. I was moving too fast and I missed the warning signs and before I knew it I had already crashed, seconds too late to pull the break. I lay on my bed and trace my fingers over the wood. I think of a lot of things. My mother, she was so sweet and pure. Innocent really. And my father, he could of been a good man. But sometimes the darkness can corrupt you and turn your skin into bone. And it'll make you realize that you were better off alone. And my sister, she was so lost. If you were to ask the devil it's name he'd only speak her's. She'd stumble home smelling more like fake love and cigarettes than my father. I guess they made a perfect pair. People always say 'like father like daughter'. They surely did that statement justice.

Tears begin to stream down my face and this time I'm not holding them back. The warm, trickling, sensation is one I'm not use to. I place my hand around the corner leg above my head until I feel the sharp edge. It's duller than I remember but it'll do the same thing. I close my eyes and I'm met with Tate's smile. I swear he could of been something. He could of been someone. He shouldn't of wound up here. No one should of.

I run my wrist upon the edge and a strike of pain runs up my arm. It satisfies me for the time being but I need more. This time I apply more pressure and run it again. More jolts of pain electrify my body but this time it's not enough. I do it again. I think of Tate for a brief moment. He'd be so upset that I've broken my record once again. A ping of guilt fills me. But then I remember he doesn't care, and suddenly I don't feel so bad.

Again and again and again, I run my arm upon the edge. I can feel my blood cover the wood. It's making it harder to cut my skin, but I don't stop. I instead persist to push harder. Tears stream down my face. This is the most pain I've ever experienced in my life, but as hard as I try I seem to keep repeating the same motion. My vision starts to blur. I can't tell if its from the tears or how much blood I've lost. I start screaming.

"How could you do this to me!? I thought you loved me!? Apparently you don't know what love is!" My vision starts to go black but I don't stop. I've never lost this much blood. A part of me is terrified for what's next to come, and the other part doesn't even care. I remember what Mrs. Clarke said to me the first day I meant her, that the worst things in life come free to us. And after today, it couldn't be more clear. Suddenly the room around me goes black.