Her POV

I pressed the sharp point of the razor into my wrist. I barely acknowledged the burning as I dragged it over my veins. Though I ignored the burn, relief and an almost giddy feeling swept through me. I vaguely noticed the sticky red liquid spilling over the older scars that littered my forearm.

I waited for the ripping, searing, terrible pain I normally felt. There was none - the pain was dull.

I frowned; This isn't how it was supposed to happen. I would cut myself and feel the pain and smile with tears streaming down my face. This is not what I wanted to happen; I wanted the pain.

I picked up the bloody razor blade and wiped it on my darkwash skinnies. My fingers fumbled and I nearly sliced off my fingertips as I dropped the blade. Part of my brain flashed STOPSTOPSTOP. I laughed shakily in the small bathroom.

I forced a grin onto my ghostly features and braced myself. With the ferocity of a lion, I slashed at my wrist again. More blood coated my arm. The pain? None. The giddy feeling was getting fainter, too.

This time I jammed the razor on an unmarked part of my wrist. I flinched at the sharp agony. I smiled, basking in the pain, when I suddenly heard dripping. I looked down and gasped. I saw blood coursing down my arm like rivers and pooling together on the floor.

My jaw unhinged.

I started screaming.

His POV

"Ron?" I snapped out of my thoughts and into reality, a dark alley behind a grocery story in New York.

"Money?" The ragged man asked. I nodded wordlessly and put the stacks of hundreds on the table. He flipped through them quickly, counting. Seemingly satisfied, he put them into one of his many coat pockets. With a gloved hand, he slid a baggie across to me. I grabbed it and left.

I made it out on to the street and groaned. I had brought a thousand dollars for the baggie, but I didn't have enough for cab fare. I needed something to clear my head. I have just the thing, I thought, smiling.

I'd have to find a place to do it, though. I looked around and sure enough, there was an old apartment building half a block down. I crossed the street and walked over. Something blue and red flashed in the corner of my eye. Nah, Can't be. But I still couldn't shake the chills that erupted on my muscular arms. I muttered something about not being a coward and kept walking.

I opened the rusty doors and peered inside. Good, it was empty. I slid onto the bottom step and poured out the contents of the baggie. I took out an ace of spades and a chewed up straw from good ol' Mickey D's. I made lines with the card and was unflattening the straw when I heard sirens wailing.

A megaphone blared from outside. I tuned it out as a much more important sound came from right behind the doors.

The cocking of a gun.

I stumbled to my feet, scooping up as much of the coke as i could into my hands. I ran up the stairs while bringing the powder filled hand up to my nose. I sniffed it but it wasn't working. I wiped my hands on my pants as the megaphone screamed the words I knew were inevitable.

"We're coming in!"

I focused on running up the stairs. I had one hope: To go to the roof and jump off like James Bond. Maybe I was high.

I got to the door, and the officers were only a staircase below me. I tried the knob, found it open, and burst out onto the roof. I started running like a maniac to the edge. The cops had reached the roof, and were shouting threats, pleads, sympathies and I think one person was even crying.

They were trying to get me away from the edge. I took a deep breath and thought I am invincible. Over the side I went.

I hit something and rolled off onto the cement a couple feet down. I looked up, the awning that had saved my life stood dented above me.

Maybe I am invincible.