I watched as the blood trickled out slowly, a small cut just beneath my knee. It was the perfect crime-I cut myself shaving. No one could tell the difference. The blood made a stream all the way down to my sock. I was both horrified and ecstatic all at once. It felt like some kind of high. . .
I'd read plenty of books about cutting. It seemed like nothing I'd ever do. But when everything got so horrible. . .well, maybe cutting was okay once in a while. As long as I didn't become a "cutter."
I ran the razor over my wrists, wishing I could slit them and be done with everything-die in a sea of sticky redness. A small spurt of blood appeared on my left wrist. I cursed, threw the razor away, and stopped the bleeding.
It was my father, calling from downstairs.
I opened the door and screamed, "Yeah?"
"This has gone on long enough. You're being unreasonable. I think you need to start seeing a therapist."
Author's Note: Well, there you have it. I'm back from the dead. Not that I won't be just as lazy as I was before with updating, heh heh heh. But what can I say? I deleted the stories that I don't have the muse for anymore. I guess I'm starting. . .fresh.