The Cutter Stories 2 Save Me

by EVOLEHT

Lydia promised she wouldn't do it again, but the pain was too good, and this time it was supposed to be different. Lydia wishes someone could save her, she wishes they'll make it in time, but they don't, and her plan works. But then again, maybe it doesn't, and when she realises this, she longs for the pain that was suppose to end it, she wishes nobody tried to save her.

I promised I wouldn't do it again, not just to myself, I promised Allison I wouldn't do it again, I promised Stiles I wouldn't do it again, but I did. I pressed that warm blade to my skin and sliced through my skin until my breath began to come in short bursts and my eyes watered. Then I smiled and then I cried.

I wiped my tears and sliced again, deeper, longer, and again I smiled and cried. I should've stopped, called Allison, called Stiles, yelled down the hall to my mom, and got help, but again I sliced, again and again until the skin on my right arm was nothing more than shredded meat.

Bleeding to death sounded like a good idea. That was the plan after all, after all that good pain, I would lay back and die, like I almost did last time. Last time my mom walked in, last time I went to the hospital, and then they put me in a psychiatric hospital for a week until I didn't want to kill myself, until I didn't want to cut, until I was happy and my mom had locked away all the sharp objects in the house.

This time would be different; this time cutting won't be it, this time I brought my entire bottle of medication, all the medication in the house actually, all the Tylenol, Excedrin, Ibuprofen, all of my mom's pills, all of my pills, all the other pills. I counted all the pills; I counted three hundred, three hundred pills, a shredded arm, and a gallon of water to wash down all the pills.

I smiled and took the first ten pills, then the next ten until I'd taken a hundred and my stomach was in my throat. One hundred more pills and I was passing out, and then the last hundred and I waited. But like last time I failed, I threw up all three hundred pills, all over myself, my shredded arm stung, blood and vomit made my eyes water, and then I burst into tears.

I didn't want to die, I didn't want it to hurt, I wanted to call Stiles, call Allison, yelled down the hall to my mom, but I was too busy crying. Why? That's what my mom asked last time. Last time I had a reason, this time I had no one to blame. Why? Last time I was too afraid to answer, this time I didn't have an answer.

Allison decided to call at that exact moment, and I picked up my phone with disgusting hands and cried to her and she hung up. She would be here soon, she would burst through my door with an ambulance already called and she would hold me until they came, and she would cry, and when I got to the hospital she would call Stiles and he would visit me, and then the doctor's would put me in the mental hospital again, but I didn't want to die anymore, I really didn't.

I waited and waited and she never came, maybe she didn't hear me, maybe she got stuck in traffic, or her mom said no, that I was fine, but she wouldn't just stay put, she would put on her tennis shoes and run all the way here.

Too late though. I died right there all alone, my best friend, she was too late, maybe she didn't come at all, I don't know, because as the minutes passed I hoped she would be the one to save me, but she didn't get here in time, and I died alone, over and over in my head begging for her to save me in time, and she didn't.

I bet she did, and I bet she ran to my room, and saw me passed out with blood and vomit all over me, and she held me not caring, and she argued with the paramedics until she could be in the ambulance with me instead of my mom being there and she held my hand while they tried to save me, but it was too late. But then I thought about it. I still have thoughts?

Four years later, four years of being stuck in my head, I wanted to tear my hair out, I wanted them to put me out of my misery, and when I woke up, out of a coma, I wanted to die, and there Allison was, there Stiles was, together, kissing, and I really wanted to die.

I watched them kiss, and then she stood and I cried, she was pregnant, and it wasn't hard to guess who the father was. My best friend got together with my boyfriend while I was in a coma. I wanted to die so bad.

They heard my cry and looked and Allison called a nurse and Stiles came over and held my hand, and I wanted to hit him, hurt him, and then die. Except I couldn't move yet, I just stared as he grabbed my hand, and she came over.

She told me all about how she and he had fallen in love and got married right out of high school and then she got pregnant and how it was a miscarriage and how suicidal she was feeling and so they tried again and it had been going great so far, she just had to be careful. I closed my eyes half-way through because I was crying and I didn't want them to see.

I didn't respond when Allison called out, because I wanted to go back and not have cut myself and taken all those pills. I wanted to even go back further, to the first time I wanted to die. But then I remembered, that wasn't my fault, I had a good reason, IT kidnapped me, raped me, IT got me pregnant when I was just a kid, and then watched as the baby came out with the cord around it's neck and I was too weak to save it, and I watched it die, and IT just watched, and then I was found and four years later I still wanted to die, and so I cut myself so deep there was no way I couldn't bleed to death, but my mom walked in the room and pressed her hand to the cut until the ambulance got to the house and she saved me. I wished she didn't save me.

Or I wish IT hadn't taken me and did those things. I wish Stiles was still mine, I wish Stiles would still be mine and I was the one to marry him and have kids with him, and he would be there to save the baby if it came out with the cord around it's neck. All the things I could wish to change this, so many events that could have been different, but most of all I wish I was dead, and that nobody tried to save me.