Page 14 of Voices

It’s too much…

I run to my bathroom and open the drawer of my vanity. I push all the random shit to the side, feeling for the bag that I taped to the back of it. I slowly peel it off, making sure not to rip it. I look at the contents as I drop to my ass and scoot back against the cool wall.

Carefully opening the bag, I pull out the razor blade, the playing card, and the grinder that’s full of weed. I grab the pack of hemp rolling papers and my navy blue zippo out of the messy drawer. Opening the grinder I dump out the weed, making quick work of rolling myself a joint.

Lighting the end, I inhale as much as I can, and hold it in my lungs until my eyes start to water. As I slowly let it out, I start to settle. Taking another hit of the citrusy smoke, I unbutton myjeans and push them down past my knees. Grabbing the razor blade, I inspect it for any lingering blood.

Taking another drag of my joint, I bring the razor to the top of my inner thigh and slowly cut my skin from side to side.

The burning sensation takes my breath for a second, but once it passes, everything just…stops. My heart slows, and my breathing becomes easier. It feels so good and calming that I do it again and again. By the time I smoke my joint down to the roach, I have four new cuts on the inside of my thigh.

I look down at the blood dripping onto the floor and smear it around with my finger over the scars that mark my pale skin. It makes them more visible reminding me how many times I’ve done this.

Taking my joint, I put it out on the inside of my elbow. The instant sting takes away the last bit of pain in my thigh. There are small round burn marks up and down both of my arms in varying stages of healing. Most of them are faded to a barely there pink color. But my most recent ones are bright pink with black scabs around the edges.

I continue to push the joint down long enough for the pain in my leg to disappear and for the new pain in my arms to register. Sometimes, I'll have to light a cigarette just to put it out on my skin a few seconds later. I try not to go too deep with the cuts on my legs, but I can’t help it sometimes, and the extra burn from the cigarette helps redirect the pain.

With my heart rate back to normal and the voices in my head finally quiet, I get up off the floor, keeping my head lowered so I don’t see my reflection in the mirror.

I don't want to look at myself.

Ashamed, I grab the first aid kit and start cleaning up my thigh. Popping two Ambien, I head for my bed. I don't care what time it is. But first I need to see if that guy messed with my sketchbook. I grab it and climb on my bed to cover myself with amountain of blankets. It doesn't look like he tore anything out. I turn a few more pages and stop.

He didn't!

On my drawing of Benji holding up the trophy with his teammates, this fucking asshole signed his name right above where I drew one of them.

Wait, is that…

Looking closer at it, I remember seeing his face on the jumbo screen during a break in the game. His light blue eyes almost matched the color of the ice. Fuck, it’s him.

What was his name again? Glancing back down at the picture, the number seven is visible on the side of his black jersey. Reaching for my phone, I open the Gannon University website. Tapping the sports tab, I click on hockey and am greeted by three guys’ pictures. On the left is Benji, on the right is some guy named Matthew Kane, and right there in the middle is Shane Hawkins. Mr. Blue eyes himself. He has a C on the upper left side of his jersey while the other two have an A.

So, he’s the captain of the hockey team. Great. Still, he had no right to mark up my drawing.

Tossing my phone back on the floor, I look back at his smiling face. I should rip this up.

As I’m about to do just that, I see numbers scribbled further down on the page along with a message.

Text or call me sometime beautiful. -Shane

Who the fuck even does that?

He thinks I’m beautiful?

No, he doesn’t you moron. Who would ever think your ugly ass is beautiful?

You’re too pale.

Too skinny.

You’re covered in scars.

You’re too small.

Argh!

FUCK!

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