My take on Corey's pre-film suicide attempt.
She breathed deeply, lazily drawing the blade diagonally across her forearm, slowly crosshatching her way to her wrist. The new lines covered those of her last disappointment, the brutal end—for real this time—of the only relationship that would ever matter. Could ever matter. The relationship that had carved the word "worthless" into her arm one night. Somehow, she'd always thought it would be different. More painful. It wasn't, though. Not at all. She was numb all the way through; nothing hurt anymore.
She smiled as she thought these things, but did not believ ethem. She herself was the only one she couldn't lie to, and those were the biggest lies she told. Everything hurt, and everything was wrong. Especially herself. The world would never get any better. She would never get any better. So, really, she deserved this.
"Shit," she muttered as a bead of blood hit the floor. She wiped it up quickly, before it had time to stain the wood. Left there, it would become just another leering, constant reminder of her stupidity. Her inability to do even this one thing right. Her failure. Her worthlessness.
It was time to end it. As that single drop of blood hit the floor, she made up her mind. She was done here, had been for quite a while now. God must have simply forgotten that it was her turn to go. It was okay, though. She could take care of it herself. After all, everyone forgot about her. And if they hadn't yet, they would soon.
She sat up straighter on the bathroom floor, no longer slouching against the sink. Casting a glance over at the door, she double-checked that the door was unlocked. It was. She didn't want to turn this into some dramatic scene, with her mother having to call her father, and her father having to break down the door. She was done with big, dramatic scenes. She pulled toward her the old shoe box she had brought into the bathroom. It came with her every time, and held all of her memories, good and bad. She shuffled past pictures of herself with Joe, in better times; past the ticket to their junior prom when he had gotten drunk and left without her; past every single one of the twelve breakup notes he had written her in the past two years, each stained with its own unique set of tear marks. She wrapped the razor in a piece of toilet paper and placed it inside once she reached the bottom. Someone would find it soon, and wonder. She liked that.
Stretching, she yawned, careful to keep her blood from dripping on the floor this time. She was leaking disappointment, and she didn't wish to leave her family with that stain once she was gone. Not that it was very likely they'd notice, but even so…
The pills were in the box as well, just waiting for her. Taunting. Reminding. Well, now was their time. Now was the time. She brought herself up to her knees and turned around , bringing herself to face the sink. She spun the handle and allowed cold water to rush from the tap, filling the glass she had brought. Not too full, though. She wouldn't need much to wash them down, and there was no need to waste. She didn't want to leave a note, didn't want to explain. He would know. Joe would know exactly why, and the guilt he was sure to feel was enough for her. If he was capable of feeling, anyway. She wasn't so sure anymore.
"Goodbye, Joe. I love you," she whispered into her glass as she swallowed her unsuccessful death in the form of her mother's sleeping pills. "I hope everything works out with Mimi."