I sat terrified in that cold metal chair. My finger was dripping blood, a small pattering noise as it hit the floor. My father stared down at me.
"How did that feel my darling?"
He asked in a deep silky voice. I shuddered, remembering the rules I kept my mouth shut. My stepmother held up a small object, the light glinted off it and as she brought I down towards my upturned wrists I realized it was a razor blade.
As my stepmom cut into my wrist over and over again I felt numb, A memory re-surfaced. Before all this, before my parents hit me...life was perfect. Until we moved to the Pink palace. I lost all my friends . At school I had no one, I always fell behind the crowds of people, no one bothered to talk to me. My grades started slipping as did my mind, into a sea of sadness. I began cutting myself..no one noticed. Then I had realized what I was doing to myself and I stopped cutting. And now as my stepmother pressed the blade against my skin I felt that dizzy high relief well up inside me. My fathers eyes widened when he saw my scars but he didn't say anything. His eyes showed a deep sadness, but it was quickly replaced by rage. His face was a mask of calm, that was what scared me the most. He motioned for my stepmother to stop cutting my wrist and he took the razor blade from her hand. 50 cuts dripped blood from my wrist, none of them deep. My father looked up and down my body but not at my eyes. He used the blade to tear my shirt down, exposing my prominent collarbones. He pressed the tip of the blade underneath her left collarbone and swiped it across. I yelled in pain, this cut was deeper than the others, no relief this time. I bit my lip and waited for the slap, wincing. I cautiously opened my eyes and it was dark again. I felt warm, wet, blood drip down my chest. Tears leaked out of my eyes and my wrist tingled and stung from the cuts. My finger was torn up and bloody.