LIfe with sargeant-Chapter three

I ran for what seemed hours on the tred mill, and I thought I was going to die. At least I didn't have asthma or any other breathing problems. I realised now that this woman was tough. But I can be tough too. Right then and there I made a promise that I wouldn't do what she said, or what anyone else said. I calmly turned off the tred mill and stepped off of it.1

"What the hell? Why don't I hear a tred mill?" Sargeant yelled in as I grabbed for the nearest towel.2

"I'm tired, and I felt like getting off. So I did." Plain and simple. No one, NO one would give me orders. I'm a free wonderer, and I don't like people telling me what to do. And when they do tell me what to do, I just ignore them or mouth back. Sargeant turned the tredmill back on and looked at me sternly.3

"Get...on...the...damn...tredmill...or I will make sure you get no food at all. But now that I think about it, making you eat might be a bigger punishment" Pff...wrong lady. I love to eat "So either you get your little butt back on this tredmill or I'll make you eat and eat and eat!" Obviously she had no clue how much I could eat if I wanted to. And I did want to. I stood looking as if it were a hard decision to make between the two choices. Finally I walked over to the tredmill and slowly turned to her, looked her straight in the eye, and turned it off.4

"Fine!" She snapped. "Go to your room and stay there. I'll be sending up some food."5

Though I was a thin girl, I was a mean girl. And I really looked mean. I didn't have a high voice, rather low actually. I didn't care what happened to me. That's why I cut. I like to call it slicing more. I slice too deep to call it cutting. I love pain, it feels so good.6

I walked into my room and looked around. There was a note on the bed next to my pillow. The note read, "You will not be having a roommate for this year, due to your condition. We fear you might hurt the students.-General Gene P. Cooper" I smirked to myself as I thought about the last bit. 'We fear you might hurt the students.' Yup, that's me. I would never really hurt someone else unless it were for self-defense. I was weird like that. I just can't hurt other people. As I sat in my room thinking about pain, I rolled up my sleeves and looked at the deep scars on my arms. I thought about the feel of the sharp razor slicing into my muscles. It's time. Time to do it again. 7

I locked my door and went into the bathroom, also locking that door. I sat on the edge of the tub, very excited. "IIIIIIt's time!" I said to myself. I reached for my bag and pulled out the bare razor, so sharp and shining. In my head played screams and eery music from Pink Floyd. I held the razor on my arm, pressed as hard as I could, and quickly pulled it across my arm.8