I lay in bed smoking, using an empty can of coke as an ash tray. I couldn't get Rachel out of my mind. My emotions ate away at me like an acid. She was like a drug, a sweet poison that was slowly killing me. All the nasty little things we'd done…why is this happening to me? It's been over a week and the pain hasn't stopped. Would it ever stop? I wish I was dead. I dropped the fag into the can and made my way to the bathroom. I turned the taps on and listened to the rush of water and the gurgling of the drain. I took out a razor and broke it up, then gently took out the blades. I didn't bite my lip. I didn't grit my teeth. I just cut. The blood, think and foul, poured into the sink. The water became pink. I cut again, drawing the blade over my arm. I couldn't help a quiet hiss of pain. Burning, sweet. Let it out. I watched the blood run. My pain, flowing out of me. The blood of life is sickly sweet. A mother's milk. Blood is the milk of life. Keeps us going. Keeps us warm. Keeps us fresh. Keeps us alive. Over time the cut will close, trapping my pain inside again, letting it slowly built until I cut again and let it out. Blood is life. Life is pain. Let it out. Let it out before I go mad. The pain of my arm is nothing to the pain in my soul. The pain of the razor, I don't even know if you can call it pain. It hurts, but it feels good. A sweet pain. Like her. Rachel. My sweet poison.
I leaned against the sink and let the blood flow, and for a moment I forgot the pain inside. Burning nerves, sliced open. This was good. This was sweet. Let the blood flow. Let it all out. The blood is life. Let me die. Let me burn, and see my sweet Devil dancing and laughing. Satan. If I die now, will you be waiting for me? My wicked friend. Would you open your arms and hold me to your breasts and kiss me as you take me into Hell, like you held me and kissed me and stroked my hair and comforted me as I cried all those years ago when I was a little boy? I was seven when you first came to me. I thought I was evil. Bad boy. Horrible, wicked child. Take the beatings. Take the fire. Take it all. You deserve it. You bring it all on yourself. It's your fault. The mirror smashed as my fist struck it. I yanked a shard out, and held it to my throat. Slit my throat. Let me die. Let me burn. Nothing but pain. I've been on fire, felt the flames licking my flesh. There are worse things than burning. Worse things than never ending pain. Because when you're so happy you could weep, it hurts so badly when it's ripped away. Let me burn. Suicide. I pressed the shard against my neck. Do it do it do it do it do it do I do it do it! What about my mother? If I killed myself, would mum be able to cope? Get over it? Would she blame herself? What would it do to her? The shard dropped out of my hand.
I want it all to end. I want to stop dreaming of her. I want to stop dreaming. Dreamless sleep. A temporary death. I want to die. Just fade away into oblivion. I don't want to love her anymore. I just want it to stop. Please. Please make it stop. Why isn't it stopping? The blood is flowing. It shouldn't hurt again so soon. Is this Hell? Am I at this moment one of the countless damned? Please make it stop. I picked up the shard and dug it in as hard as I could. Slice. Rip. Tear. Let it all out. I felt woozy. I'm dying. Oh God, I'm dying. I staggered and fell to the floor. My vision was fuzzy. I'm dying. I knew I was dying. All I felt was relief. I'm dying. I smiled.