Prologue

Drip… Drip… Drip… Drip…

Cold, green eyes snapped open, wildly search­ing the room around them. The girl sighed quietly. It was just water dripping from the faucet. She knew that she should reach forward and turn the knob that little fraction of an inch to make it stop, but she was in too much pain to move. Her back throbbed, her head pounded, and her arms stung mercilessly as soapy water entered her open wounds.

She moved her eyes down to the water-filled tub, a crazed smile gracing her lips at the sight of the pink-tinged liquid. She slowly moved them up to her arms, her smile growing larger as they met with each bloody wound. Such a masochis­tic little habit she’d gotten herself into. Cutting herself to punish herself, to rid her mind of useless emotions that did nothing but hinder her thoughts and make her life a living Hell…

She hated this. Why couldn’t everything just go back to the way that it had been? Before everyone had begun to take her life for granted? She had never done anything to anyone to deserve such harsh treatments. They would use her and then toss her aside her aside as if she were a broken doll. But whenever they would call she would just run right back to them, letting them step all over her once again. Almost just like a doormat. But it didn’t matter. Just as long as long as they were happy and she wasn’t alone. She would pretend to be happy for them.

Even her own family members were beginning to forget about her feelings. They all knew how fragile she was—knew that she relied upon a blade to keep her sanity—but they didn’t seem to care. They dictated her life like tyrants, pretending that they knew what was best for her. Your friends can and can’t be… You can go… You can’t go… It was a never-ending circle that she longed to escape from.

The girl sighed and sank down into the lukewarm water, her long, raven hair floating out around her body.

Oh, if only she had the strength to tell everyone how she felt; then, she would never have been reduced to what she was, but she cared about the feelings of others too much to let anyone know how she really felt about them.

The tears that had been prickling at the corners of her eyes for the past hour finally began to make their burning trails down her face. With her entire body con­vulsing in violent sobs, the girl couldn’t think or move straight. Her dead eyes stared blankly at the white tile wall of the bathtub—unblinking and un­caring—letting the tears fall freely.

Today she would get rid of all those pent up feelings; she would make sure everyone knew how she felt once and for all. Only then would her soul finally be free to be happy.

She remembered the times in her past when she used to be happy, but those had disappeared along with the light that had once presided over her life. It had all disappeared when she finally realized that she was trying to be someone that she wasn’t, and was failing miserably. For six years she enforced the idea that she was a goody-goody and wouldn’t do anything to wrong even a fly, but even after her change, the fake was still the person that everyone saw. The imposter. And no matter how she tried to kill it, it just kept coming back to life in the minds of everyone she knew. Her family, her friends, and sometimes, even herself.

She took great, gasping breathes to calm her mind, but the sobs wouldn’t stop. She was left as a broken wreck in the water. A painful scream tore its way out of her throat, echoing through­out the bathroom and empty house.

She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. As quickly as she could, she climbed out of the bathtub and fell onto her knees in front of the toilet. She retched uncontrollably, her hands holding the edge of the ceramic basin so tight that her knuckles were white. When there was finally nothing left in her stomach, the heaving stopped, but the tears fell even harder.

What was happening to her? Had she really wronged everyone so badly for her to be given this dreadful life? Why wouldn’t anyone show her light? Be her strength? Tell her that it would all be okay?

Moving almost as if she were a marionette, the girl grabbed onto the bathroom counter and used it to help her get onto her wobbly legs. When her legs finally stabilized themselves, she reached for the towel lying on the floor next to her and dried herself off. She grabbed the white outfit on the sink next to her and pulled it on.

With cold eyes the girl looked up at her reflection in the mirror, brushing the nonexistent dust from the front of her shirt. She had picked this outfit just for the occasion: a white tank top and long, white skirt. Then, when her family found her, they would see what they had reduced her to. They would see the scars, scabs, and fresh wounds on her arms, and the brilliant color of her blood would be forever emblazoned into the fabric.

She screamed as loud as she possibly could and lashed out at her reflection, shattering it into millions of little pieces. She looked down at the blood pouring from her wounded hand and, though she was still sobbing, broke out into laughter. She was beginning to feel better already, but she couldn’t just leave it at that. She had to make her pain known to everyone.

She grabbed onto the shower curtain around the tub and ripped it down with a scream. She broke everything that she could possibly get her hands on in the small room, relishing in the destruction that she caused.

Finally, when there was nothing left that she could destroy with her bare hands, she grabbed her blade from the side of the bathtub and hacked away at her arms. Blood poured from the wounds, staining the floor and splattering across her outfit. She began to laugh again and sang a song about suicide that she had written a long time ago.

When the time finally came, she held the blade in her right hand and slashed it across her left wrist, her body jerking only slightly at the pain. With a smile, she switched hands and cut her right wrist, slowly slipping sideways onto the floor.

The faint tingling that she had felt at first now erupted into extreme pain across her nerves, and she moaned quietly, hugging her arms to her chest. She was already beginning to become lightheaded and she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She didn’t know how long she laid there, drifting on the edge of unconsciousness and quite possibly death, but sometime during her stupor someone opened the front door of her home and called out her name. The voice sounded so familiar, but she couldn’t remember who it was.

The voice called her name again and the telltale sound of footsteps across a hardwood floor made their ways closer and closer to where she lay. She heard the creak of her bedroom door being opened and then a knock on the bathroom door.

“Ellie, is that you?” the voice asked. “Are you okay?”

“No,” she moaned quietly. “You’re not going to take this away from me! Go away. Just let me die in peace.”

A strangled gasp made its way to her ears and the person grabbed onto the handle, only to find that it was locked.

“Eleanor! Let me in, Ellie!”

The girl cringed. That voice was so loud! It was beginning to make her skull feel like it was about to explode.

“Go. Away.”

The pounding on the door grew harder and harder. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve thought that they were trying to break the door. And sure enough, three crashes later, the handle on the door broke and the person tumbled into the small room.

Eleanor felt herself as she was lifted up into the person’s arms. Who was it, though? Her eyelids were too heavy for her to open them and see who it was, but she knew that she should know them. She moaned quietly and shook her head. The person smacked her across the face, and her eyes flew open in surprise.

She gazed up into the face of her intruder. She knew those grey eyes and dirty blonde hair. It was her best friend.

“Keaira?”

“Oh, Ellie, what have you done?” Keaira moaned. “Why?”

“Just let me go, Keaira,” she whispered. “You’ll be happier when I’m dead.”

Wet drops splattered across Eleanor’s face and she realized that Keaira was crying. She was crying…for her. But why? Her life would be so much easier once she was dead and gone. Why wouldn’t she realize that?

Keaira’s face began to grow grey around the edges and it was getting harder and harder for her to focus on it. Even so, she could see the panic on Keaira’s face when she realized her friend was fading.

“Look at me, Ellie. You can’t die on me, you just can’t!”

Keaira had her cell phone to her ear. Eleanor felt panic overtake her mind and she wanted to reach out and take the phone away from Keaira, but she couldn’t move. No! If she called them that meant that her life had a chance at being saved and she didn’t want to live any longer. She wanted to die!

Her eyelids grew too heavy again and they drifted closed. She heard Keaira scream but couldn’t quite discern what she was saying. Everything was all jumbled together and she couldn’t think straight.

The world of black that lay just beyond her grasp became more inviting, its cold arms reaching out to wrap her in their gentle embrace.

Keaira smacked her across the face, but it she was too far gone to come back again. Eleanor was drifting closer and closer to the numbing cold of her own demise.

Warm, comfortable arms, so different than the cold darkness, wrapped around Eleanor’s waist and pulled her flush against Death’s body. A pair of icy lips was pressed against her temple.

“Ah, my Eleanor. I have longed for you so.” The voice was smooth like an angel’s, but it sent shivers of fear rippling down Eleanor’s spine.

She moaned quietly and squeezed her eyes. No…she changed her mind. She didn’t want Death. She didn’t want to go anywhere with this person…this being. Eleanor struggled to climb out of the pit of darkness she’d thrown herself into, but the arms tightened and refused to loosen their grasp.

“Stay with me.”

The calm voice soothed Eleanor’s fears and she stopped her struggling. She relaxed in Death’s arms with a quiet sigh and let herself be carried away.

When the paramedics arrived soon after, Eleanor had already drifted silently into unconsciousness.