A/N:warning, self-harm/suicide ahead.

One night can be an eternity…

I stir from my slumber once again. I find myself searching for something to grasp to, something real. All I can seem to see is a crimson liquid on my wrist, even though I know it’s not there.

In panic, I start rummaging through the things under my bed. Half of me wanting to find a bandage, and the other half wanting to find the weapon that I know is there. My hands find the metal box they were looking for, and as they lift the lid I hear a breath from behind me.

All of the sudden I realize that you’re lying beside me, trembling slightly in you half-conscious state. My hands suddenly forget the box, and hurry to wrap you in a warm embrace. How could I forget again? How could I be so consumed by that one memory that I forget my love again?

Soon your body relaxes again and I realize that you’re asleep again. Part of me wants to try to sleep again, yet I know nothing good can come from it. Every second of my slumber I’m forced to relive that night. A night that I never want to happen to you.

---

I hold the purple handled scissors in my hand. There’s no remorse, guilt, or any other emotion flowing through my body. All I can feel is the excitement of finally escaping from it all.

As if planned, I begin carving out the route on my wrist. Trails of crimson traced across my wrist. Soon scarlet pools begin to form near these roads and the remaining land begins to slowly fade away.

My body starts to go limp, and a stain begins to form on my carpet. The scissors blades are drenched in blood, and for about 2 seconds I begin to think about what a bitch it’ll be to clean up after this. But those thoughts quickly fade as I add yet another pathway along my path wrist.

Soon. I realize that it will all finally be over soon, as my body grows weaker. No one will be able to hurt me anymore, and I won’t be a constant disappointment to the ones I love.

The scissors fall from my hand and within seconds my world goes black.

---

I barely have time to realize I’m awake, for I’m in the bathroom throwing up. I can see the blood on my arm as if it were actually still there. The entire night is flowing through my mind, and I feel myself suffocating. I start to wish that I had succeeded that night, so that I wouldn’t have to suffer like this.

After my stomach calms down, I flush the toilet and slowly get to my feet. I look at myself in the mirror through blurred eyes. I hadn’t even realized that I had started to cry, but sure enough my eyes are puffy and red. The eye make-up I had worn previously that evening is now smudged, making it look like I had been punch in the eye.

I begin to loathe the person I’m staring back at. The person who lived as a hypocrite most her life. The person who practically sacrificing her soul to making sure everyone else’s lives were peaceful. The person who broke promises, while posing to be an honest and obedient girl. I hate every inch of that person.

Before I do something regrettable, I return to my bedroom, where I find you stirring in your sleep again. I can’t tell if you’re awake or not, but you mumble something. Once again I pull you into an embrace, hoping to soothe you in some way. My body grows weaker though, and I’m forced to loosen my hold of you. The dizziness and the overwhelming nausea soon beats me, and I fall into a restless sleep again.

---

My body stirs and a groggy feeling fills my head. I soon realize that my wrist is drowning in an ugly maroon pigment. The same pigment colors the carpet bellow my limp wrist. And there next to the stain, lay the bloodied scissors, still half open. I had failed.

The alarm goes off above my head and I realize that it’s 6:15. Suddenly all my responsibilities coming flooding back to me and I realize that I have to be to the school in 45 minutes for an officer’s meeting.

It takes me what seems like an eternity to finally sit up. The aftermath of the deed I had committed, still stains my wrist and floor and I slowly rise to my feet. I take in my surroundings one more time before leaping to my trashcan to throw up.

My body starts to shake, finally realizing what I had actually done. The evidence is everywhere. And realizing that the clock now reads 6:35, I throw a blanket over the carpet and rush to the bathroom to wash the dried blood off my arm. Upon reaching the bathroom sink however, as warm water runs over my arm, I start to throw up once again.

---

I wake again, a sickening feeling building inside of me. But I don’t want to puke again, and so I fight it with all my power. Which didn’t seem to amount to all that much, considering the fact I had only gotten 3 hours so far that night.

You’re next to me still. I want to wake you and just cry in your arms. But I refuse to allow myself to break down so poorly. So I turn away from you, and let silent tears fall. I never want to see the same blood run down your wrists. But all the images say it’s going to happen, and that you won’t be as ‘lucky’ as I was…

Your cell phone alarm rings and shocks me away from my thoughts. I quickly wipe my eyes, and turn around to face you. I want to be strong for you, and make sure you’re okay. You still look pale and maybe a little scared. I try to think of something to do, but just looking at you is making my body shake in fear. I can see the blood on your arms.

Soon you get up to get dressed for work. I don’t want you to go. I want to try to help you still. Keep you safe with me. But I know I’ll never be able to. I’ll never be the strong person you need.

With a kiss you disappear, down the stairs and out the door. Seconds later I pass out, wishing that you would be there when I woke up again.