Slowly and shakily, Brat rose the knife. I can't believe I'm doing this, she thought as crystal blue tears clouded her once sunny midnight blue eyes. Now her eyes were a dull navy. They lost their shine and sparkle much like herself. Brat was angry, sad, scared, and confused. She bit her lip so hard it drew blood. Stupid mom, stupid Bubbles, stupid Boomer, she thought bitterly. It's their fault you're doing this. A tiny voice in the back of her head told her otherwise.
"You're doing this because you're weak You can't handle the stress of being a teenager and you're punishing for it. Pathetic. You're absolutely pathetic. You're a waste of space. You're useless," it spoke. It was a cruel, cold, horrible voice that would scare the hell out of anyone. Brat, however, was unlike most people. She heard the voice everyday. It would nag her about how terrible she was. She hated it. She also hated her mother. That vile woman was always trying to change her. She would never ever ever amount to her mother's expectations and she resented her for it.
She also hated Bubbles Utonium. She was a crappy best friend. All she ever did was criticize everything Brat did. Nothing was ever good enough for Bubbles Utonium. Nothing Brat did could please her. Bitch, Brat thought. Under those big, shining blue eyes, Bubbles was a bitch. And a selfish one at that!
Brat couldn't help but hate her boyfriend, Boomer. She didn't want to, but she did. How could he not see how angry she was? Did he not notice? Is he that stupid?! Or is it that he didn't care. He just didn't give a damn about her and her feelings. Surely, he did. He had to. It was his job as a boyfriend to care about how happy his girlfriend was.
She also hated that word. Happy. It made no sense to her. Why couldn't she be happy? What could make her feel elated? She didn't know and it scared her. Was she doomed to be depressed and angry for all of time? She must be because she couldn't even remember the last time she was happy. "Boo hoo," the voice sneered.
It was a miserable existence, but it was hers.
She closed her dull eyes and let out a deep breath. More tears streamed from those navy eyes. "The first cut is always the hardest, but the next will be easier. I promise," she told herself. "Johnny lives across the street," she said, trying to remember which way to cut. Quickly, she tightened her grip on the knife and sliced her wrist. She tried to hold in a scream but one slipped out anyway. More tears fell and hit the cold, hard, wooden floor. She forced herself to open one eye and saw bright red blood spill from her wrist. She couldn't help but smile. The shade of red was so pretty. It went well with her pale skin. Drops of blood hit the floor. It wasn't as pretty as it was on her wrist.
Taking a deep breath, she decided to have another go at it. She smiled brightly and drew the blade across her already slit wrist. She didn't scream this time. Instead she laughed. "I was right," she mused, sliding the blade again, this time on the other wrist. "It is easier the next time." She closed her eyes and dropped the knife. She felt faint and leaned on the bathroom counter. "But it hurts a lot more."