Warning: ANGST
Remy stood in the bathroom, gazing deeply into the mirror. He glanced at his arms and sobbed.
His right hand shook, the one holding the razor. It shook so hard that he was afraid that he would drop it. So he clutched it tighter: so tight that the plastic on the end of it dug uncomfortably in him palm.
His forearms burned with pain, the red slashes cut into them pulsating with each beat of his heart.
The sink before him was stained with red.
A strangling sound escaped his throat.
What have you done?
A loud knock echoed through his bedroom door.
"Rems, are you awake?"
What have you done?
John rapped at Remy's door several more times.
A loud thud rang out from within the room.
He furrowed his brow and winced.
"You ok in there, mate?"
There was no answer.
"Rems?"
"You ok?"
There was nothing but complete silence on the other side.
John felt a sudden sense of dread come over him.
It was like a cold fist was squeezing his heart, making it beat faster, just to escape its clutches.
"Remy?"
The buzzing of pure quiet shook in his ears.
"Remy if you don't open the door, I'm coming in, you hear me?"
Three minutes passed.
Then four.
Then five.
Finally, John mustered up the courage to grab the doorknob, twist it open, and step into the Cajun's room.
They stared at each other, like deer caught in headlights.
Remy swallowed the foul bile rising in his throat.
John stared at him, mouth agape. His eyes were wide in shock.
"I'm sorry," Remy whispered.
"I'm sorry."
John closed his mouth and glanced at Remy's face.
There was a look of pure fear and disgust splayed all across his face.
Remy shook with horror.
"I'm sorry!"
The
Needle
Strikes
Sharp
Cutting
Run
Little
Rabbit
Run.
John inched tentatively towards Remy, reaching out with his hands and carefully enveloping his wrists.
His fingers brushed the cuts: burning, hot, sharp pain.
"Why..." John trailed off.
"I don't know." Remy whispered.