Until I Collapse • @vscomultii

Chapter 12 // Grayson

If you've ever heard of Russian Roulette, you'll know what I mean when I say that cutting yourself is a bit like it. You load a random slot in the gun with a single bullet, and take turns shooting the gun at your head. If it's your turn and you shoot yourself, you've obviously lost because now you're obviously dead.

When you cut yourself, you never know which time will be deadly to you. Sometimes it can happen on purpose, or it can happen on accident. You never know when you can push too deep, and your mistake is your ticket out.

Whether you are ready or not isn't your choice.

In the very beginning, back in October, Ethan wasn't home. I had pulled the blade out from my razor, which now doesn't work and has no use or purpose.

I was just experimenting with myself almost. Putting it on the top to my skin and drawing a line across my wrist, as if the tip of the blade was a pencil. I kept repeating it, almost as if to practice what I was doing. The sharp edge of the blade left a barely visible trail behind it. No blood, just a little scrape. I wondered what the pain would feel like if I actually did it.

I stared into the mirror, looking at myself before I was like this. I wasn't at all skinny, but thankfully those days are in the past now.
I wanted to do it. Just try it.

Just suck it up and push the blade in.

I looked back down at my scarless wrists for the last time that I would know, and pushed the blade in. I gasped, and then bit my tongue to stop from screaming. A habit that is very familiar to me now.

After pushing the blade through the whole underside of my wrist in a straight line, I could barely breathe.

Do it again.

Directly next to the first one, I made a new line almost identical to the one before. I kept repeating this process, but I got a little more rugged with it as it went. When I finished I felt numb all over.

Shit. The blood.

I hadn't noticed I was bleeding so much.

I grabbed a clean towel to soak up the blood on the floor. The towel was most likely ruined, but I planned to try to wash it anyways.

Now what?

How did I expect to hide this from Ethan? I ran into my room and pulled out a heavy sweatshirt and threw it on over my t-shirt. The wrists got stained quickly, and I had to change the sweatshirt twice more before he came in.

I was sitting in my room, examining the marks I had made on myself. The feeling of dragging the blade through my skin numbed me to all the other pain, and I liked that. Just then, Ethan barged into the room. I quickly pulled down my sleeves to hide what I did from him. "Hey Grayson. I'm ordering pizza. Want some?" He smiled a little, but I couldn't think of anything else to say other than "No thanks, I'm not hungry." Which wasn't even true. I was starving.

I'd learn to ignore the pains in my stomach that beg me for food.

I'd learn to ignore the pains all over that tell me to stop cutting myself, too.
-
As I stand in the same position I did back in October, I notice the differences from then to now. It rains now as it did then.

I was also just upset back in the beginning. I wasn't the perfect kid, but now I'm on my way. Even though I'm still not perfect, then I guess what I am is the next best thing. Or it will have to be.

Instead of trying to congratulate myself with a "normal" reward, I decide to reward myself the way that has become familiar to me. By cutting.

I already thought of Ethan finding my blade. I have another one hidden in a medicine box just in case.

I never had to use it until now.

I mostly reopen the same wounds, but I soon decide that it isn't enough. I push the blade even deeper, father then I've gone before. Blood pours out, but I don't even flinch. The pain doesn't hurt.

It just feels good.

I continue to go deeper, and it feels even better now.

Some people get high off of drinking, smoking, or just on life. You get high off of cutting yourself. Is that so bad?

I know that if is, but I tell myself it isn't. As I assure myself of this, I just go back and deepen each cut. By the time I snap out of my blindness to the pain, I can barely see straight.

The front of both my forearms are completely cut and torn. My skin is barely intact, and for the first time in a while, I feel disgust. The whole countertop is smeared with my blood.

I can barely hold myself up. I feel myself falling, and before I black out, I manage to scream "Ethan" as loud as I can.

I collapse onto the hard tile of the bloody bathroom floor.