“Enough,” I choke out, angry at my own weakness. “Just... stop.”
I want to scream. To punch something. But all I can do is stand here and watch the girl in the mirror crumble.
“You’re fine. It doesn’t matter if no one believes you. You’re fine.” I tell her, but the words sound hollow.
“Just breathe,” I repeat, but breaths come in short gasps.
Each inhale feels like a betrayal.
“Why can’t I just be okay? Why does everyone point out the fact I’m not okay?” I ask the empty room, my voice breaking.
A soft sob escapes me. I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel like this.
The knife glints under the harsh bathroom light. I don’t hesitate.
My hand reaches for it, fingers wrapping around the cool metal.
It feels solid, real.
I raise it, staring at my wrists.
My pulse beats in time with my racing heart.
A whisper of fear curls in my gut but I push it away.
The blade hovers above my skin.
I can almost hear the echo of those dark thoughts screaming through me.
They taunt me. They mock me.
With a quick flick, I press the edge against my wrist.
The sting is sharp, immediate. Red blooms, vivid against my pale skin.
“God,” I gasp, a mix of pain and relief washing over me.
I watch as the crimson flows, a release.
It’s beautiful in a twisted way, like the chaos inside me finally finding an outlet.
“Why does this feel good?” I whisper, shaking my head, but I can’t stop the next cut. Another slice.
“Just breathe,” but breaths come rapid and shallow.
My vision blurs and darkness takes me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Miles
I lean back against the bar, my whiskey glass empty.
The clatter of footsteps pulls my attention.
Alexa and Cheyenne emerge from upstairs, shaking their heads like they just lost a battle.
Alexa’s voice is tight with frustration. “She won’t listen,”
