Wrists Like Paper

Alexandria or Alex as she preferred to be called, has been spending her teenage years using her wrists as careless pieces of paper. Cut after cut she made her wrists into works of art. People look at her wrists and notice the cuts but they wouldn't say anything. That's what irritated her the most. The fact that they wouldn't say anything. If they noticed why didn't they say anything, tell her everything that's wrong with her, tell her what they think, just to say anything. All she wanted. Just for someone to actually tell her what they thought. Don't just stare at her like shes a freak tell her something! But what will happen when she meets Harry Styles? Will he help her? Will he tell her what he's thinking? Will he fall in love with the girl with paper for wrists?

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2. Getting Ready

 Ugh! I've been up since 5. I rolled out of bed and fell on the floor. I shot up and walked over to my closet. I pulled out a black, skull, sweater, a black skirt, some black tights, and my all black converse. I love the color black it's so soothing. Its like a drug. Its a safe color. To most people it means darkness or death, but to me its a safety. An escape. Its darkness fills the soul. Makes you feel warm in a cold way. In a way it fills the emptiness that eats away at your body. Eventually you just fade so much into it that you don't even know its there. It becomes a protector. Something you can rely on when you feel alone. There will always be the darkness, no matter how many people say "God will always be there". Because where was he when I was bleeding on the floor? Where was he when my mum and I were being beat by my father? Huh? Why doesn't he stop it, he has the power. I believe in him and everything but answer this, where was he? Without black, I'm just a lost, hopeless, broken, sad, little girl. But with it I'm a lost, hopeless, broken, sad, little girl, with a friend. Besides blood, blacks all I've got. In a strange way I've fallen in love with my depression. You get so used to it that you begin to think of it as a necessity. You crave it, you need it, you want it. It becomes such a big part of your life that you can't imagine life without it. I walked over to my mirror, which hung on the wall, in the corner of my room. I looked in it and all I saw was ugly. I was fat, worthless, and ugly. I ran my fingers over the cuts on my arms. I then walked over to my dresser and opened the first drawer. I felt past all the clothes until my fingers came across the all too familiar blade. I pulled it out then searched my arm for a free spot. Luckily I found one. I took the knife to it. Cutting slowly at first, bit like a painter not wanting to ruin the picture. Then I went deeper and drew blood. I started crying. Not because it hurt, no this was painless, but I was crying at what I've become. I've spent the last few years wasted, cutting every time I felt bad. You're pathetic Alexandria. Just drop dead all ready, go on and die. I kept cutting harder and deeper. Each cut had a reason behind it. The one closest to my shoulder was because of Maddie's constant torture. The one over my vein on the back of my wrist was for my father and all the hell he's put us through. Eventually I stopped the continuous cutting and watched myself bleed. I laughed. You're pathetic Alex, I mean look at your pathetic, little, worthless, life. 

 I grabbed my makeup and put it on. Black eyeshadow, black eyeliner, black mascara, black everything. Just everything. In my body and out. I was dead inside-out. I brushed my hair, which naturally was straight, thank god. Then I teased my bangs a bit. "Alexandria, hurry up you're gonna be late for school!", I heard my mum call from downstairs. "Coming mum!". I grabbed my rucksack and ran downstairs. Well no time to cry, just put on a smile and go.

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