Hazard

Chapter 4- Need A Ride?

"Love begins at home, and it is not how much we do... but how much love we put in that action."

~Mother Teresa
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I finally stepped into my house after a long , atrocious day at school. As per usual I was met with a silent atmosphere. My parents would not be back until late tonight, the time when I'm already laying in bed.

Homework is my least favorite part , hours of working at school just to come home and do even more work . Yay ! Before heading upstairs to my room I grabbed a bag of chips to snack on. My mind could not process right without food. Once I stepped into my room , I flung the backpack onto the bed and followed after, my body landing face down on the soft covers.

I took a minute to breathe in and the scent of roses filled my senses. This was one of my many reasons to love this bed, it always smelled nice! Once I had had enough of smelling the roses.. Well, more like once I couldn't breathe .. I picked up my body and sat with my legs crossed . My backpack and the bag of chips were opened.

My favorite, sour cream and onion, laid before me. Eating one , I carried on to pull out my math homework.

*

A good hour and a half later I had finished my homework and my backpack had been thrown to the other side of the room. This is when the silence of the house hit me . The silence that I had always dreaded. Why? Because silence was what encourage the monsters in my head to begin talking.

The sweat jacket I had worn all day was taken off , leaving my upper half in only my bra. Looking down was the worst thing I could do. Scars adorned my arms. Some were deeper, and fresher than others. One hand slowly felt over the raised lines of a skin on the opposite arm.

One thought came to mind; You deserve it.

And I always believed this voice. I do deserve this. No regrets ever came to mind when I saw the scars. They were meant to be there, and I believed it. Even with as many that were already there, I still never felt it was enough.

"Go ahead.. Do it" a small voice in my head said. Pushing up off the bed, I trudged over to the bathroom.the soft wind that was created by my movements hit the bear skin of my upper half causing goose bumps to rise.

Stepping onto the tile floors, I closed the door behind me and reached out for the small, elegant gold handle of the sink drawer. Moving everything from the top of the pile to the side I saw the single silver piece laying at the bottom of the drawer. My fingers picked up the cold metal and a new state of mind took over , one that took me away from this world and into my own .

"Just a drag.." The voice mocked.

Sliding down against the wall I let my arm rest I too of my raised legs . One drag won't do too much damage. Sliding the blade across an unmarked area among the sea of scars , I saw a dotted line of blood appear. Something about seeing the exquisite deep red color satisfied my need to feel. Emotions were no longer an easy thing for me to express or consume.

To perceive the pinch of the metal breaking though the sensitive skin was a reminder that I was still capable of feeling pain just as any other person would. Only I received it I this way and not from watching a tragic movie. In the moments when I took part in this act , I no longer feel numb to the world.

In contrast, I am capable of understanding how being hurt could be. But the only bad thing was, it's a trap.

One is never enough . My senses crave more. They desire the task to be performed several times .

'Just a drag' turned into "just a few more". Most are addicted to drugs, feeling the need to take one puff that quickly turns into smoking many times throughout the day. This was my drug. The swipe is my puff. I've become addicted to not inflicting scars on my body, but to no longer feeling numb.