Töte Mich

#4

"The most profound moment of my life was when I saw my sister cry. Her breath caught in her throat and she struggled to speak as the news of those nights rolled off my lips. She began weeping for me, for the loss of my happiness, my innocence, me. She knew of the darkness that collects in you; she knew how you lose yourself more and more with each passing second. She knew because she lived it. And the thought of anyone else living it, was enough to crush her." - 6/3/17

Surprisingly the second day was even worse than the first. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but I was clearly praying for a miracle that wouldn't come. It seems like the weight upon my shoulders just gets heavier by the minute.

Crushing. Bearing down. Silencing. Killing.

Everything from pieces of my hair to my clothes were scattered across my room. I had passed out after spending god knows how long cutting all my hair off. It needed to come off.

It was something that reminded me of him and he needed to go away. 'Shove it down. Act like you're fine and shove it so far down. Protect your crumbling tower from further devastation. Never.. ever let anyone hurt you like this again'.

And the fact I had classes tomorrow didn't help. Every Monday morning, I had Calculus with him, it was my first lesson. My heart ran even faster at the thought of having to be in the same room as him.

'His panting, his soft moaning, the feeling of him covering my back.' I shuddered and my stomach turned as the bile threatened to rise out of my throat and all over my sheets. "Gross, gross gross, No. No. No. Stop!" I mumbled as I pressed down on my shut eyelids with trembling hands. I tried to steady my breathing before I choked on the saliva collecting in my mouth.

'His fingers tracing down my ass.. his spit covered them.. Cold, wet, disgusting. They pushed into me and I screamed harder.'

I threw myself out of my bed and into my bathroom just barely making it to the toilet before the bile rose completely out of me and burnt my throat and nose as it exited.

A sob wrecked my feeble body and I smashed my head repeatedly against the bathroom wall. "Please! Make it stop, Make it stop!". I cried silently.

I just want to die.

'8:43:57... 8:43:58... 8:43:59... 8:44:00...'

Each desperate plea in the form of the words "Get out!" graced my lips, as I smashed my head harder into the wall with each dejected chant. I felt his fingers glide over my body, I clawed my bare thighs, just trying to get rid of the feeling.

As more and more sets of red drag marks graced my skin, I clenched my eyes shut. My fingertips were hot and my thighs felt like they were on fire, but I didn't stop. I just kept clawing. The digusting smell of the couch and the cloth filled my nose. The cloth smelt like grease and strong, cheap cologne, while the couch smelt like must and mothballs.

I could feel him unbuttoning my pants. Each little 'tic' as the zipper got lower and the teeth of my zipper separated. I felt him pulling them down. I clawed impossibly deeper and I opened my eyes to see I had drawn blood.

If I can't scratch him out, I'll burn him out... If I can't burn him out.. I'll cut him out! Cut him out now!!'.

I propelled my numb body to my desk. 'Something sharp, look for something sharp!' I threw various pens and pencils and paper across my room in search of something, anything.

I had inhaled sharply when my fingers had wrapped around the metal utensil covered in plastic. I had found an old boxcutter from when I'd first moved into college in the fall. I was silently thanking the stars as tears welled in my eyes.

I turned on the shower, the same temperature as always. And sat down in the tub with shaking hands and legs. I clicked the box cutter open. I felt scalding water run over the shallow open wounds on my skin. I instantly hissed at the sting, but then I reviled in it.

'The sting... I'm killing him, Get him out!'. I clicked open the box cutter and I ran the tip of my thumb across the blade, delighted when it shallowly opened the skin of my thumb. It's still sharp as ever.

I tentatively placed the sharp blade on my skin dragged it across the top of my right thigh. The pain was present but I was getting him out. The crimson liquid poured from the large cut. I inhaled sharply and started another cut. Except this one was deeper.

I pressed harder on the box cutter and more blood came pouring out. 'He tasted like pot and cigarettes. Cheap, generic cologne and musty old couches. His fingers pushing inside me; it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad. I didn't want it, why didn't he stop?!'. I could feel him rubbing himself between my thighs and on my ass.

I began slashing my thigh erratically with heavy, fast slashes. "Out! Out! Out!" I screamed as I began hacking at my other thigh. The pain was inconceivable and I was bleeding heavily from both my thighs.

'I deserve this. It's my fault. I shouldn't have gone to that stupid fucking party. I shouldn't have went. It was my fault. My fault. MY FAULT.'

I watched my blood run and mix with the scalding water turning it redish pink as it mixed with the water and ran down the drain. I sheathed the blade into the box cutter before chucking it out of the bathtub.

I grabbed the soap and rubbed it into my hair along with the cloth and began scrubbing every inch of my body that wasn't seeping blood.

I just kept scrubbing and scrubbing deeper and deeper.

'My fault.. My fault'.