The Great Escape of the Past

*Trigger Warning*
(If you're sensitive about this stuff I'll do a brief summary in the notes.)

All this thinking is stressing the living hell out of me. When I get stressed out, my voices return. When my voices return, I want the blade. I need it but yet don't. I need to think about this. Fuck it.

I went to my dresser and got a little wooden box. After I retrieved my box filled with my deadly desires, blades and gauzes, I ran into the bathroom. It was a good thing everyone left about 5pm, right now it's 8pm.

I locked the bathroom door, just in case. I turned on the shower. I got undressed and looked on the mirror. All I could see was a useless, fat, man-whore, ugly man or in my case child, because I don't deserve to be a man.

I unlocked the box, got the blades out and hopped in the shower. The hot water felt nice but it didn't relax me. I grabbed the blade and twiddled it between my fingers. Watching the shiny metal gleam in the light made me want to do it more

I pressed the metal across my skin on my wrist. It was relieving. I was feeling tranquil. Seeing my blood beading is one of the things I love.

Being worthless is 8 slashes. Ugly is 5. Wasting space 15. Helping no one 2.

I ended up with too many cuts to even count. So many cuts on my wrists, thighs, stomach, hips, and shoulders.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

Shit, what have I done. I quickly get out of the shower and cleaned my cuts. I put on a long-sleeved shirt, my tie-dye sweatshirt, and my plaid pajama pants.

I went to answer the door. There stood the one person I didn't want to see me like this is or at least not at all. There stood James.

Notes

Vic cut himself in a lot of places. There was a knock at the door and it turned out to be James