01
__________
"drip"
DRIP.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
The blood pearls splattered onto the bathroom sink, but she did not notice. Her eyes remained transfixed on her reflection in the mirror.
People would say she was beautiful. She was strong and she was smart. She was a girl no one should worry about. Why would they? She always smiled.
Except for behind closed doors.
Now, her face was without any hint of a smile. In fact her lips curled slightly downwards when she relaxed. Her eyes were vividly blue and bright, but still as she looked in the mirror, the layer of darkness did not go unnoticed. The black came as a stunning contrast to the different nuances of blue that filled out her irises.
She saw it just as clear as she saw the sun shining down from a cloudless sky. The tormented blackness of her soul which was right there on display, but still no one looked her in the eyes long enough to realize her demons.
If they did they would see her battles, her scars, and the never-ending clawing at her soul.
They say you might lose the battle but win the war, however as her hands tightened on the bathroom sink, she was worried she would not win the war.
Because how can you win a war over the demons that are created by yourself?
How can you win over the dark shadows that are there for a reason?
She grabbed tightly onto her bleeding wrist, not because it hurt, but for it to feel of something.
Anything.
She wanted the sensation of the stinging by severed skin. She wanted the ache reminding her that there was pain greater than what she felt on the inside.
The blade had helped her for a while, but as the months passed she came to realize it did not do her any good anymore.
The pain had stopped.
And so she picked up the blade again.
She trailed the razor blade over a new spot of untouched skin hoping this time the stinging would come.
Her gaze stayed on the cut, drinking in how the blood spilled from her wrist in drops which hurriedly made their way down her arm.
Reaching all the way to her elbow before they let themselves fall.
Drip.
Drip.
Drop.
Drip.
Onto the bathroom sink.
The blood merged together with the leftover water in the sink, making an intriguing delicate pattern as it flowed its way down the drain.
Mesmerized, she traced her finger over the crooked line of blood on her arm, getting enough of the red substance on the pad of her finger. Then she raised it over the sink watching hypnotically as a small droplet made the journey from her finger into the sink.
Drip.
She did it again.
Drip.
Drip.
She let out a sigh as that too became plain and boring. Her eyes once again returned to look at herself in the mirror.
Who would think that a girl with a face like an angel would battle demons more cruel than those from imaginary outlets?
YOU ARE READING
asphyxiate
Non-Fiction"Drowning is not the worst part. Lacking the courage to breathe is." No one saw her struggle. No one saw her scars. No one saw her bleeding. No one saw her tears. No one saw her depression. They never realized the deep waters she swam. If...
