Game Over → Mashley: Book 3 (COMPLETED)

A Bloody Desire

***WARNING: This chapter may be triggering to some readers. If you are triggered easily, I suggest you do not read this chapter***

Chapter 12

Ashley's POV

My phone goes off from the table where the lamp is standing, lighting up the room, giving off a dainty light.

I unlock it and I got a new message from a new contact.

"Hello my poofy penguin."

Ryan... How the hell did he get my number? Which I changed last month...

"How the fuck did you get my number?" I text him. He starts to reply quickly.

"Remember when I said I went through your records? Your number was put on there ;)"

Son of a bitch. I thought confidential records were supposed to be confidential.

"What do you want now? Going to continue threatening me with your sexual desires?"

"Desires? You mean future?"

''On Mitch's watch, it'll just be your kinky little fantasies,"

"Then I'll just have to get rid Mitch first. I hope you enjoy your 'precious time' together. I'll see in the bed soon love <3"

"I fucking hate you."

Then I throw my phone and I walk to the kitchen, my eyes closed, taking deep breathes. When I open them I see, splattered in tomato sauce,

"I love you"

I run to the bathroom, the light is already on and with my red lipstick, written on the mirror

"I'll see you soon"

Tears burn my throat as they start to rise into my eyes. Everything then becomes blurry as the tears finally become visible.

I run to the living room and run my hand through my hair, crying.

I sit at the barstool at the kitchen counter and slam my head on the hard marble counter.

I look up and take a peak to my left. A red handheld pencil sharpener is sitting perfectly still, perhaps being the only thing on the counter.

I slowly take it and observe it. I turn it over and there it is, screwed into the plastic, the shiny, small blade.

It brings back memories instantly of when I was a depressed, suicidal 14 year old.

I tried to commit suicide when my mom started to abuse me. I was very easy to break and I slit my wrists to the point where there were about 30 cuts on the outside and inside of my arms. Both my arms.

I was sent to the counselor when I didn't wear my hoodie to school one day and everyone could see what I have been doing to myself. The counselor told my parents and my mom just thought. I was weak and the abuse became worse than before.

Now I am getting sexually, verbally, physically and mentally abused.

I look at the clean wrists I have had for almost 5 years.

It's strange to see myself without cuts while I'm like this...

This tingling sensation occurs in my hand almost like my body is telling me to do it, to feel the pain I felt 5 years ago.

I look around the kitchen for something to take the screw out and I take a look at the knives and my curiosity strikes me. I take the sharpest knife out and jab the point into the middle of the screw and turned it, and it actually started to work.

I turn it and turn it like a gear, working in a clock. I turn it until the screw falls to the floor with a soft clank. The blade slides out and it's suddenly in my fingers.

A sense of relief comes to me instantly and I take my death march to the bathroom. Once I'm inside, I lock the door and look at my reflection.

This is who I really am.

A poor, helpless girl who thinks that people actually love her.

I look down at the blade, getting closer and closer to contact with my skin.

My heart, pumping. My blood, rushing.

I take a deep breath and drag the blade across the top of my wrist, blood already starting to spill out. Relief rushes through my veins, the same relief I felt almost 5 years ago.

I start to make more cuts,

2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

One for each of the ones that crave my demise.

Ryan, Jess, Alanna, Seto, Steve and Woodwork.

My arm starts to throb, feeling the blood exit my body and spill onto my arm.

I grab some squares of toilet paper and start to clean off the blood. It takes me a while to get it off, especially when it's still bleeding. The throbbing gets worse and worse and it starts to sting.

However the pain somehow makes me, happy.

The bleeding starts to stop and it makes the clean up more easier.

I sit against the wall of the bathroom, in pain, yet relived, staring at the lipstick on the mirror.

I grab a towel from the cabinets and put my blade underneath a bottle of unused body wash and a towel. I need to wash the tomato sauce and the lipstick off before Mitch comes home or else he'll flip his shit.

Making sure I wipe off every single inch off, I spend about 15-20 minutes on both of the pieces of furniture. And to take care of my cuts, I put on three rubber bracelets, two with penguins on it and one a black with my name written in cursive.

Mitch can't find out. At least not for now.