Trigger warning: this story contains sensitive material pertaining to self harm
The sweet sting of the blade against her pale skin.
A tiny rivulet of red trickled down her thigh. She tossed her head back, relief coursing through her body. The pain and hatred flowing out of her into the warm bath water.
She watched the cloud of red spread through the water, feeling detached and slightly outside of herself.
For now, for this moment, the vile venom of her mind was quiet as her eyes soaked in the sight of her blood seeping out of the cut.
The razor once more against her skin, pressing down… slice, a longer stripe this time, deeper.
Her alabaster thighs scattered with silver white scars, now turning pink under the bloody water.
She considered them, her scars, like old friends.
Or old enemies.
Each one a reminder of a previous pain, of her self-hatred, of a longing to simply not be anymore.
She struggled every time to stop the razor blade, before she gave in to the need to cut deeper, harder, to allow herself to bleed out into her bathtub.
She resisted the desire to set herself free from the constant torment of her mind.
She settled for the release that came with the slash and slice of her skin, the sweet respite the physical pain brought with it.
Standing and draining the tub of the cherry-blush water, she dried off and taped up her fresh wounds, relishing the throbbing from her punctures.
Facing herself in the mirror, she saw only a worthless piece of meat, a sad, sorry excuse for a human being and she knew that one day, soon, she would not refuse herself her deepest desire for peace.
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