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To Bleed, Chapter 1 |
| Written by Chelsea DeCarlo | |
| Wednesday, 16 July 2008 | |
 Emily heard it again. It wouldn't stop. She finally collapsed on her bedroom floor and covered her ears. She screamed for it to stop, maybe she could drown out the sound. It didn't work. It never worked. She always heard it, it was always there. Telling her to do things, things she would never even think about earlier. What happened to her? The medication didn't work. She popped another tylenol PM but it didnt help. Maybe if she took the painkiller it would silence her emotional turmoil. She could be silent in her sleep. It didn't bother her then. She had to up the dosage of sleep aids because she had such a high tolerance for them. Silence kills, her conscience mind couldn't take the silence. She was perfectly fine when she had people around. When there was someone outside who was talking to her she was normal. She didn't feel normal, though. She felt alone in the world, and she was to the point where nothing could help her, she just had to grit her teeth and get through it. Emily... Why wouldn't it stop? Why was she tormented by her own mind? Emily... No, not this time. The only way to shut it up for a little while was to take the razor out of the drawer. But that was exactly what it wanted. It's okay, Emily. It doesn't hurt. She knew in the end it would win. She had no reason to listen, but she knew she would anyway. It was malicious, and it wanted her to hurt herself. She weighed the options as always. Emily...it's okay Emily, it won't bleed that much. "Shutup!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. She was sobbing uncontrollably now, gripping her hair. Just do it, Emily... "Please leave me alone, please just go away," She pleaded through her tears. She opened the bottom drawer of her chestnut jewlery box, and took out a shiny silver boxcutter. She pushed it through so the razor was exposed, and she went quicky, because the quicker you slashed, the less it hurt, the more it would bleed. Sparkling red liquid dripped out of her finger, as she cut more and more, deeper with every one. She dropped the razor on the floor and stumbled into the bathroom. The mirror showed her face, drenched and blotchy. Red drops started to stain the sink, and Emily put on the water. It was just her now. Nothing but the sound of her fast breathing and the water falling down the drain. She knew she wasn't ever truly alone, and that scared her. The voice could come back at any moment, whether she was prepared or not. She stopped the bleeding after a few minutes of watching it drip. She left it exposed, because a band aid would draw attention to the cuts on her hand. She went back to her room, and fell asleep on the floor. The bed wasn't right for naps, she had always preferred the floor. The sleep aids had finally kicked in, and she fell deep into her unconscience mind, the only escape she had ever known. But the escape was bittersweet, because she knew eventually she would have to awake, and there it would be, waiting for her. Always.
When she did wake up, it was dark. Her room was dark, her house was dark, the sky was dark. Her mother was away on a business trip, and her father passed away two years ago. Her sister was at a friend's house, probably, and that meant she was left to fend for herself. She peeked at the clock. It was past two. But she couldn't sleep. It was okay, though, because it was not as bad in the dark. She could never explain it, but she felt safe in the dark. So there she sat, indian style on the floor of her bedroom. She was lonely, but she knew she was not alone. Emily was a free-spirited sixteen year old girl. Her sister Katherine was thirteen. Their mother was away most of the time, and she didn't like it. Her mother had fallen apart after their father died. Emily didn't know why, though, she hardly ever saw the man, and besides, she wasn't the one who found him hanging from the shower curtain rod. That was the day Emily started losing her sanity. She became very violent, and six months later she cut herself for the first time. She couldn't accept fate. It was a dreadful reminder that we all must die one day. As she grew older, Emily started to accept that fact, and she harnessed it. She had that control. She could take her life whenever she wanted. She couldn't handle that realization, either. That's when she started hearing things. Things which would tell her to hurt herself, and at first she could resist. But then she grew wary, and started to lose it. She couldn't silence the voice by just ignoring it. She had to take sleep aids and painkillers to keep it bearable, and then cutting herself would satisfy it's wishes. What really tortured Emily though, was the fact that it was her, she was doing this by herself. There were no other factors, she was a perfectly sane person. Most of the time. At school everything was always fine. When she was out of the house, she was fine, and when she was around people, she was fine. It was only when she was left alone that everything fell to pieces. She couldn't hold it together anymore. Copyright 2008 Chelsea DeCarlo |
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