Silent Whispers In My Head

Chapter 4:

The morning arises, and I open my eyes. I feel a burn in my wrist, and I look down at the scars. They are deeper than I intended. I rub my eyes, and sit up. Sarah is not in her bed. I turn my body and let my bare feet hit the creaky wood floor. My stomach growls at me. I grab it. “I am hungry,” I say. I stand up, and look around the room. It is freezing I realize. The bathroom door is shut tight. I creep up to it silently, and slowly. My heart races. I knock.
         “Come in,” Sarah shouts. I impel the door forward. It opens. I peer in at the dead girl. She is running a blade over her skin over and over again. The blood oozes out of her flesh, and drips to the floor in red rain droplets. They pour out on after the other. The floor color diminishes, and it becomes just a crimson red. She looks up, and smiles at me. “Want a turn?”
         I just stare and I remember how amazing it felt last night. How it made everything feel better. I stepped closer to Sarah, who was seated on the toilet seat. She held the blade up, and I extended my arm to grab it. In my hand, I could feel the power of the blade. It could slice through my skin no problem, and after using it; There is no turning back. It will soak right into my epidermis, and then break it open. Only hurting for a mere second, and then pure relief. I sit down on the cold bathroom floor. My heart beating to extremities. I breathe in deeply. A smile crosses my face, as the blade crosses my wrist. I look at what I had done, and smile bigger. I hold the blade back up to Sarah, who grabs it with pleasure. I stand up, and walk out of the bathroom.
         Sarah stops me in my tracks, “Where you going? We have to wait until Sandy calls us down.”
         “Oh,” I say. I turned around, “When's that?”
         She puts the blade under the sink and replies, “About ten more minutes.”
         I nod and say, “I'm going to go sit on my bed.”
         She follows me out to the beds, and we both sit in silence. I stair at my cuts, and scars. I am not sure what Sarah is doing, I am too scared to look. I keep my focus on the pink lines across my wrist.
         Sarah's voice disrupts the silence, “How old are you?”
         I look at her, “What?”
         “How old are you?” She repeats.
         “I am almost fifteen, why?” I answer with another question.
         “Well,” She says, “I died when I was fifteen. I was just wondering.” She says.
         I gulp, and ask, “When did you die?”
         She faces me, “Three years ago; In this very house.” She points at the bathroom, “In that bathroom.”
         I turn my body towards her, “How did you?”
         She pauses, “I didn't do it to myself. If that's what you think.”
         “Honestly, it is what my first thought was,” I reply.
         She doesn't say anything.
         “I'm sorry,” I say, “We don't have to talk about this.”
         “It's alright,” She replies as she looks down. She looks back at me and opens her mouth.