I look at my reflection in the mirror.
Dull eyes with black bags beneath them stare back.
I'm tired.
Haven't slept properly in days.
But I can't.
How could I have been so stupid?
Anger rises in my chest.
A cold, deadly fury.
I should have known.
I can't stand it.
Glass shatters.
My reflection is splintered, fractured, distorted.
Bloody knuckles stain the remaining glass, the red liquid trailing down my reflection's cheek.
It hurts.
But it clear my mind, numbs my heart in ways nothing has since the day she left.
I sink to my knees, clutching my still clenched fist in my other hand.
Then did I punch the mirror?
I'm just still.
Quite.
Unmoving.
Just for a moment.
Then a glimmering catches the edge of my eye.
I turn my head, slowly.
Moving is to hard, speed to impossible.
The world is dulled to much to move normally.
Be normal.
An especially big shard of glass reflects the light.
It glimmers, glitters.
Holds unspoken, unknown promises.
I reach out.
It's cold.
As big as half of my hand.
The edges are sharp.
I clench my hand around it.
It cuts into my skin.
I watch the blood leak out with morbid curiosity.
Watch as it flows over my skin warmly, trailing down to the edge of my hand and dripping to the ground.
I don't know how long I just watch.
Time doesn't matter.
Less blood flows.
No!
Don't stop!
I don't want to feel again, I want to stay numb!
My decision is made.
Then did I make up my mind?
Something tells me it's wrong, but I don't care.
Just be quiet, little voice.
I put the edge of the glass, my makeshift blade, to the skin on my arm.
Sharpening it with precision to cut deeper.
A red line appears on my skin, leaving it's trail.
I watch.
Watch, watch, watch.
Blood drips from her arm to the floor. A steady rust-colored flow. The razors edge is sharp. The cut to deliberate to be accidentally. But who cares? No one will look anyway. No one who helps her, at least. Blood trails down her arm, over her hand, dripping to the floor. It's less then before. It's lacking. She knows. They know. They are happy. They want to cut her. Cut her open more to watch her bleed out. Her long locks touch the skin of her arm as she leans forward slightly to examine the wound. She doesn't care that the ends of her hair become wet. It's the third cut. The first line dried long ago and the second barley bleeds anymore. The blood is warm. She looks at the razors blade. It shows her reflection, blood trailing down over her reflection's face. Dirty. Strange. Distorted. More blood drips to the floor, causing a puddle on the white ground.
The puddle grows.
More blood on the ground.
I look at it.
The pain in my arm numbs my head.
I add another cut.
The third.
When did I get to the third?
My mind is slipping.
I'm feeling lightheaded and dizzy.
I should stop.
But I don't want to.
Is there really a need to?
No one cares. She tried so hard. Tried to fit in, do things the way everyone told her to. Cut open and forced to change herself. Gave up who she was for who they wanted her to be. Was it wrong? Why was she still trying to hold on? Clutching to a promise she long ago realized was empty, was false? She whispered it. The old promise. Her lips move slowly. It tastes like ash. Lies always taste of ash, of burned hope, of already-over fireworks. She remembers. The words aren't supposed to taste like this. They tasted of strawberries and mint and giggles and hope and safety. But only in her memory. No more. Her memories don't save her. No matter how much she tries. Tries to change, to fit in, to make them happy. It hurts. The pain is to much. She tried. Truly tried, desperately, to fit in. Changed herself until her reflection in the mirror wasn't her anymore. Just an alingment of puzzle pieces that make up a different picture then they originally did. A picture that just isn't her anymore. It´s hard.
I changed.
I always fitted in, now I don't.
What did I do wrong?
Nothing, the voices whisper.
Nothing.
You just stopped giving up who you are for who they wanted you to be.
Why does it feel so wrong?
I don´t understand.
Put the glass on my skin and cut.
Cut me open just to watch me bleed out.