Becky: I'm sorry.
Me: no don't say that...
I breathed out, taping my fingers against my leg, waiting for a response. I glanced at my homework but that wasn't important. I mean, my best friend wanted to die. How could anything be any more important than that?
Becky: I can't do this anymore. Goodbye. I'm srry
My heart skipped a bit as I realized I had no way to stop her. There was nothing I could do but beg on my hands and knees for her own life.
Me: please. Please, you're my best friend. Don't do this. Please don't.
Read 5:45 pm
I waited for her to answer, then waited some more. But she didn't answer that night.
"Yeah, so works been going well." My dad said over dinner. I nodded but shoved my food around my plate. I wasn't very hungry for some reason. Nervous, I guess. I felt on edge.
"You okay?" My mom asked me, seeing my lack of appetite I ALWAYS had. I gave her a huge smile, showing my teeth.
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" I said with a laugh. My mom laughed too.
"Just making sure."
"No," I muttered softly to myself, dropping the razor back to the floor of the shower. "No," I told myself again as I turned off the shower.
"No," I said once more, climbing out and slamming shut the curtain so I didn't have to see it anymore. But why not? An evil little voice whispered. Because I CANT! I told the little voice, but it didn't want to listen to me. It wanted to feed it's hunger.
As I sat in bed, my mind was surprisingly blank. I stared at the scissors across the room, my heart speeding up and slowing again over and over. I slowly crawled out of bed, looking over my shoulder at my door, almost expecting my mom to burst through. But she didn't. I grabbed the scissors, placing them to my arm. I breathed in. I breathed out. I scratched. No blood. No gore. Just a scratch. And just like that I felt tension pick itself off me. Another scratch. Another. And just like that, I was a self-harmer.
I looked over at my phone and instantly typed a reply.
Me: i thought you were dead!
Becky: I'm not.
Yes, well, I can see that.. I sighed softly, lifting back my sleeve to see the scratches scattered on my arm. I dragged my fingernails across my flesh, giving another sigh.
Me: well, are you okay?
Becky: yeah, why?
I slammed my phone down in annoyance. WHY?! WHY?! I didn't trust myself to answer. I quit it with this suicidal recital.
Yet I knew that I could be dying and I'd still jump in to the rescue. Because she mattered. She was a person. She was human. She was like me. I dragged my hand across my face with a low groan. Hell.