Behind Truth Lies

I sat there with the razor in my hand. Blood dripped down my leg from the incision I made. Pain. All I wanted was pain. If I felt the hurt, maybe then they would go away. What did they want from me? Why couldn't they leave me alone? I am seventeen and a half years old, old enough to be given the independence I craved, but not mature enough to be handed a lifeline on this wicked world.

Pain ripped through my leg again, as I dug the blade into another part of my thigh on another desperate endeavour to stop these figures in front of me. Tears welled in my eyes as the harsh awareness hit my body, and then I laughed. Pathetic. My life was just a useless mess. I laughed again as I once more tore my flesh with the blade, dragging it down my skin, watching the crimson wave of blood flowing to the surface, dripping over my leg, making a pool on the floor.

I rested my head on the wall behind me, aware of the dark figures surrounding my crumpled body, flopped lifelessly on the bathroom floor.

I could hear the amusement on the other side of the door, coming from the cluster of people I once knew as my friends. That was before we discovered the state of exhiliration and excitement we could achieve, sucking back on the pipe.

Our innocent friendships were twisted into a cruel manifestation of hatred, pain and drugs. To the unknown eye that is anyway. In our vision, it was a whole new world. We had confidence, we had enjoyment, we had a way to forget and a reason to want. Our bodies and our minds were taken over by this life sucking; money wasting routine, and we loved it!

Until now. Now I could see they were all against me. I don't know what they wanted, or why. But I had to get out of there before they took it. Too afraid to step into the outside world, with these brutal demons surrounding me, my only hide away was behind this closed door, seperating me from the scornful stares of the swarm.

Remembrances of my upbringing ran through my head. The terrorizing nights I'd lay awake in dread, motionless under my blankets, listening carefully for the footsteps I knew would come. I'd close my eyes tight as I heard my door slowly opening, and I would hold back the urge to cry, in hope that if he thought I was asleep, he would leave me alone. I was only a child, I hadn't been taught the values of other girls my age, and was somewhat unsure of what was happening. All I new was it was wrong. His nauseating aroma would fill my room, and my stomach would tense with the gagging I would try to hold back. My covers would tighten over my body as he sat on my bed, and I would feel his hands stroke my face. I knew what he was going to do next, and pretending to be asleep wouldn't stop it! Sobbing, I would beg him to please leave me alone, but no amount of pleading would discourage his temptations. His fingers would unfasten the buttons on my pyjamas, and I would shudder with the coldness that slapped my exposed body. I would struggle under his touch, but his grip would only tighten. One hand over my mouth, muffling my screams, the other on my throat, he would hurt me again and again. His breath hot in my ear, he would tell me he loved me, and this is what happens in love. Assuring me this was all ok, however If I told anyone, they would find me disgusting. I screamed and I cried, I just wanted it to end. The sensation running through my body at that time was one I knew would disfigure me for years, the amount of pain I felt was agonizing and at times, I was sure it was going to kill me. After what seemed like an eternity, I would hear his breath quicken and his stifled groans that made me sick every time. Then his body would go flaccid on top of mine, almost crushing my tiny remains that he left, feeling dirty and humiliated.

For years he would destroy my body, in any way he found able. For years I would live in fright, unable to tell anyone, in fear of the filthiness they would see in me. For years he would take advantage of my innocence and inexperience, and leave me with an even deeper feeling of dirtiness and worthlessness. He stole my youth, he stole my purity, and he took something from me that I would never be able to retrieve. He destroyed me...

A thump on the bathroom door brought my awareness back to the reality that seemed more of a nightmare. More thumps, and I realised it was one of my "friends" wanting to see if I was ok. I wasn't. Silent tears streamed down my face, but I brushed them away, sensing the burning in my leg again. I looked at the razor blade in my hand. I looked at the blood surrounding me. I looked to the door, then back to the blade again. My heart started to race, and I felt my body shake. I was aware of my panting. I couldn't breathe. The voices were all around me, laughing at me, seeing me through the eyes he warned me they'd see me through. The dirtiness and impurity poured out of my body and I screamed as I stabbed the blade into my wrist. I felt the vein cut. Then I stabbed it into the other wrist, the same feeling again. I stabbed over and over again, not just my wrists, but also my legs, my arms, my stomache; every soiled bit of me was covered in oozing gashes. I felt sick, my head started to spin. My body was quivering wildly, as I felt the rushing of the blood flowing out of every opening I had hatefully created. My eyes went blank, I felt no pain. But I was scared. I was sorry. I didn't want this anymore. I could make it right, I could make it all alright...

~

I knew something wasn't right; she was my best friend, I just knew it. She had been gone too long. She wasn't alright when she walked away. I continued to thump on the door; afraid of the blood curdling curses I heard her shrieking. I begged for her to please let me in, but still no response to me. I grabbed one of the others and we kicked at the door till it gave way and slammed open, and the sight I saw in front of me was shocking. Her once bright blue eyes, now stared directly through me. They were framed in a mixture of smeared eye makeup, tears and blood. I looked around, mouth to the floor, sick to the stomach. Then I noticed her wrists. I almost vomited. I thought she was dead, till I noticed a single tear running down her cheek. I ran to her, dropping to her side and I grabbed the nearest cloth to me. I pressed it to her wrists, and held her other arm hard against it, trying to slow the bleeding, even just a bit. She mumbled something I couldn't make out, and all I could do was cry. I felt sick, I was petrified. But I ahd to help her. I screamed for someone to call an ambulance and the next however long was a blur. I cried, she cried, and I eventually made out the sorrys she was saying. I told her it was going to be ok, and then I told myself that too.

In the ambulance, they did all they could. She was unconcious by the time they arrived, but she was alive. I sat there watching her, waiting for her beautiful blue eyes to open and look at me, but they never did. I knew somehow that it wasn't going to be ok anymore, and I screamed at her to wake up. She wouldn't. I begged fro her to stop being stupid, but she still just laid there.

It wasn't funny anymore. I wanted her to stop it. The joke was over. I wanted to go home. I closed my eyes and cried. I was confused and I didn't understand. Then I heard noise. Maybe she was awake. I opened my eyes in hope and I saw the paramedics over her. Then I saw her body throwing itself wildly on the bed. I screamed again for her to stop it, but she still wouldn't.

All of a sudden, I knew what was happening, and I told her, I yelled at her, if she died, I would hate her. I heard the sirens and I heard the yelling. But all I could see was her. Then she left. Her body gave up the fight, and her heart gave up the battle. I didn't move. I didn't cry. I didn't speak. I just stared at her, till she was taken away. She was gone. She had left me.