Jeanette thought she was happy. Happier then she had been, at least.
But her hands seemed to have a mind of their own, seemed to act by themselves.
Because as much as she hated it, she found herself leaning against the bathroom sink with a rich, thick dark liquid running down her arm to drop into the sink.
Her other hand was wrapped around a knife handle, holding it so tightly her knuckles turned white, the sharp blade glistening with blood.
She only made one cut and it didn't bleed all that much. Well, the cut on her skin didn't bleed that much.
But she felt as if she was bleeding inside. Bleeding so much her whole body burned and stung.
She took shallow breaths and leaned her head against the cold tiles.
Her hands were shaking.
She washed the knife before she could use it again and stored it in one of the kitchen drawers.
She washed her arm clean of blood as well.
She thought she was much happier, so why did she still feel like this?
She got no more reason to, not now when she finally found such a good friend like Oscar and also started talking with her other classmates, discovering they were all great as well.
Or did she just didn't want to let go of the feeling since it's been stuck with her for a such a long time? Was she already used to replace the pain with physical wounds she still did it even if there was no more pain or troubling thoughts inside her?
She didn't know. But it still felt good to her to do it.