She felt sick, she was fine, she was going to be happy again.
Jackie eyed the utensil in her hand, it was beautiful in her eyes. The gleam the shinned at the edge, it'd save her. This item was her way out, and at the end of the bliss it gave her she could patch up and she'd be just fine. At the end of it, everything was still normal.
The African American girl didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. The line had began to blur, from the tears or smiles; she didn't care.
Perhaps she was wrong, maybe it just wasn't right to do this to herself. But when she felt it go down on the skin of her arms, giving her a line that would count the days until release. Tally marks, they were just tally marks. Running a finger down the thin line, she couldn't help but smile. It was as if she was making art on herself, simple and plain as it may be; her pain was art.
She lifted the item in her hand, before lowering it. She could feel the cold steel of the blade touch her arm, she could feel her grip tighten. Her body shook, every day. This was her escape, the glowing light of the blade in this grey world was like a sweet treat. Something special, something she could taste everyday.
At the beginning it hurt, but she did it. She counted with her skin and a knife, her markings. But soon the pain dulled and it was just a normal thing now. It gave her somewhat of an orgasmic feeling now, when she felt the blade cut through her skin and into her flesh-it felt like she had tasted freedom.
Jackie then pressed down, feeling the knife cut into her. She let out a slight hiss of pain, before continuing the line, going lower and lower down her arm. Lifting the knife away, she viewed the mark as beautiful liquid spilled down from the wound, staining her arm with crimson. With curiously, she lifted her arm; tongue flicking out she felt it touch the blood. She savored the taste, as sickening it as it may be. It might have been the best thing she tasted in awhile.
Licking away the rest of the blood, Jackie leaned against the wall behind her. Staring at her arm in thought, twenty-three marks, twenty-three days. A thousand more till true happiness.
But for now, her only happiness relied on the blade.
And she'd continue to count until she was free from this prison, and she could be with her friends once again.