A Simple Way

"I'm only hurting myself..." She whispered to herself, sitting alone, tucked away in her corner located in her closet at her parents house. She was tucked away in a corner, minding her own business, thinking about what she shouldn't do -what she couldn't do- unless she wanted to get caught again. "Why does anyone care? I'm a nothing...." She whispered, growing close to tears. 1

She felt a vibration, a signal that someone was calling her on the cell phone that her parents had purchased for the sole purpose of checking up on her whenever they wanted. She pulled out the LG C1300 and flipped it open using her thumb. She saw the number, recognizing it immediately and letting it vibrate. 2

She didn't want to answer it. Jake was on her shit list and she particularly wasn't in the mood to talk to him. She let her mind wander away, let herself think back on the ninth grade, of how she had basically no one to trust with things besides Abby and Jared. And Jake, well, she never really felt all the comfortable around Jake. And then, towards the end of the year, she met a chick, Andrea. She thought that she felt a bond, that maybe this friend could stick around, be with her. And she began to trust, something that was hard for her. But the more she grew comfortable around Andrea, the more that she relaxed. 3

And the more that Andrea wanted to know. When she wouldn't tell her, Andrea went running to Jake. She was prying... prying into a life that particularly didn't want to be in the open... one that was meant to be kept private.4

"Dammit! Why did this have to happen to me?" She uttered sudden;y, mad again at what Andrea had provoked. Jake didn't deserve what he had gotten, what he earned because she hadn't told everything to Andrea. The real story had come out the beginning of tenth grade, most likely another lie to make someone feel better about themselves. Sort of like the one where they lied about what she was saying, a rumor that simply had no shred of truth behind it.5

She lept up, careful to avoid the wooden bar above her head. She grabbed her blade, a small simple thing to have laying around in her room, of all places. She guided herself back to her closet, sitting down again. 6

This pain was simply too much. She had no way to handle it, no way but one. And she was in trouble for that, all because she had no way to express all her emotions normally, normal meaning like other people. She wasn't like everyone else, wasn't able to show every single emotion beyond words.7

So she knew one way -a simple meager way- to show some kind of emotion, an emotion that she particularly didn't want know, but was too preoccupied with her feelings to care.8

She placed the blade to her wrist, a point starting at her vein, the blade facing diagonally to her stomach. She pressed down gently, and felt the vein pop a little and a jab of crimson blood bubbled up. She puled the blade down towards her stomach, careful to follow the vein, making sure that it was split open.9

She gasped once the pain reached her mind, and she forcefully blocked it out. No retracing now, no backtracking. Fate was playing a part, the part that she took into her own hands. 10

"One arm down, one more to go..." She whispered, beads of sweat forming along her upperlip and her brow. She was losing blood quickly, and she was loving the empty-like sensation. Her other arm was trickier, seeing as she had to do it quickly as she was feeling her life fade out of her, her internal candle was flickering out. She finished her other arm and rested her heavy head against the plaster wall behind her. Her eyes slipped closed as she faded away.11