There's blood. A lot of it. And it's dripping. I can't take my eyes off it; it looks so pretty. All crimson, glistening in the bright, artificial light.
My right hand is shaking. I don't understand why it is, until I glance out of the corner of my eye and see something made of steel in my grasp. For God's sake, it's happened again.
I never make out that life is full of unicorns, rainbows and fluffy clouds in clear blue skies. That's not me. I'm a realist, and a God damned bleak one at that. The liquid that was is now buried within the fibres of my rug. Well, that's not coming out any time soon, hey? My dog is sniffing the floor, my DNA still dripping. Thankfully not on the fluffy sod. He doesn't like baths…
There are demons fighting inside of me. And it looks like this time they won. They don't usually. I'm too stubborn to give in… usually. But something snapped. I won't lie, it scared me. Something just took over my body; my mind. What made me take that cold metal in my hand? I haven't done this for years.
I hang my head in shame, feeling useless. I need comfort. I need the arms of the man I love. But he's not here. Not yet. Not for a few days. I can't make him get to me. We have priorities. He knows about my old ways, or as I call it, "old habits". He's never seen the before, during or the aftermath of it taking control of me.
That crimson I was lusting over a mere minute ago becomes blurry, my eyes pooled with tears. It feels like forever since I freely cried. I tend to bite it back, to keep a strong composure. I try and let the world know I am strong. I am independent. I am… normal. To a degree, anyway. My knees drop to the floor, the thud cushioned. The blood is coagulating, drying; no longer running off my flesh onto the ground beneath me. Muttering overtakes normal speech, telling my own brain off for letting this happen. Telling the dog to move, he doesn't want a bath now, does he? Shaking my head, I rest my left arm on my knees, glaring at the deep cut I made. I did this. I cut myself. On purpose.
It happened again. The demons are winning this war inside of me. Where are the unicorns to fight them off? To pierce their Satan-loving body with their Godly, sparkling with glitter horn? They are winning… Again.
"Stephanie?"
That voice. I know that voice. It's not inside of my head, it's real, it's familiar. It's… home. My head turns, looking over my shoulder through my hair falling in it's way. My eyes widen in shock, quickly turning to guilt and lowering them again.
Chris is back from work - a few days early, actually - and he's finally seen the mess I've become.
