Chapter Text
Nothing quite shines like a new blade. Exquisite and sweet, it will pull the blood away from me so I don’t have to carry its weight.
And, oh, it’s weight is so bad. Hard to carry. Everything is bad. Clearly I’m fucking bad, like what the hell? I don’t even know. But everything I do is for fucking attention. I need to be trapped on a goddamn deserted island, isolated from everyone I know and love just so I can’t pretend I have baggage I don’t, because I don’t fucking have baggage. I know I don’t. I don’t need therapy or shit like that. I act perfectly, right? That’s my life’s goal, my entire purpose. Just be perfect, and it’s not that hard. It can’t be. Just do what you’re told, and you’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, just fine. It’s not that hard. So why can’t I fucking do it? Why can’t I just do it, why can’t I just do it? Because it’s really not that hard. You do your shit, you sleep, you eat, you have a goddamn fucking life, and you’re perfect because it’s really not that hard!
I roll up my sleeve and use the blade with as much force as I possibly can, and still it’s never enough. No, I’m not trying to fucking kill myself, just something. ‘Cause I never go hard enough, just the tiniest bit of blood and then a scab and then I’m fine, no scars, no remnants, nothing.
And still, nothing. Why must I have fucking self-preservation? Bullshit. That’s fucking bullshit.
Nothing. Nothing. REALLY?! NOTHING! What the fuck. No, ‘cause what the actual FUCK?!
It’s too much, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t. What did I tell you? I fucking CAN’T!! Can’t what? I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know.
My mom went to bed early. There is no one awake. Just me. Why must I ever wake? I have to go. I can’t fucking attention seek any more.
Be quiet. Be quiet. Run. Run. The scenery blurs around me, crowding and leaving my vision at the same time. Maybe I am just running too fast. Maybe I just can’t process what I’m seeing (or not seeing). Loud. Loud. But it’s too quiet. There is not enough, my empty mind is all-consuming, and everything it touches disappears. Nobody is talking, just white noise in the background. The hectic streets of New York City have never been so loud, but none of it is catching up to me. Not just in one ear and out the other, it is too much, it’s too loud, it’s too loud. There is nothing, it’s quiet, it’s quiet, it’s quiet…
There is nothing. Just doing. I can feel every inch of my body moving. Running, gasping for breath, desperate to cling on to the bit of life I have left. I don’t know. There is nothing to know… People bumping into me from every direction. The lights of all the cars turning on at the entrance of the night. Dusk has never been less peaceful. I’ve always loved liminal spaces. Calm. Almost exclusive, like nobody else could exist in that moment. This is anything but. My heart thumps–no, not thumps–my heart attacks me, compressing my lungs and stealing their breath, taking my blood and making me dizzy, stealing my focus from my brain.
I can’t think. I can only do, but I don’t know what I’m doing. Something wet and strangely warm hits my left hand, invading my grip on the air. Fuck, is it raining? No, but my hand is warm.
I’m dizzy. Wait, what? I’m sitting? I’m sitting on a bench because cold wooden boards are under me, supporting the weight I’ve never noticed before that I carry. So I put myself on a bench? Why? Where? What?
Can I see now? Kinda, I don’t know. I don’t know anything. What? Ow, fuck, my head. Whatever. Ow, fuck, my arm. Huh? My fine. No, my arm is fine–that’s what I meant to think. What the fuck? Am I dead? What is my brain doing?
I raise my arm to my vision level as if it’s easier than just moving my head and I examine the damage. Wait, what damage? Oh, right, that. I can’t think. Nothing. Wait, what?
It’s all cakey and gross, but somehow my sleeve rolled back down and covered the scene. My right hand moves to push up the sleeve, but as soon as I do, it catches on the blood. FUCK! Shit, that hurts. Yeah, no, not fucking doing that. I’ll figure that out at some point, just not right now.
Now that I can kinda see, I start to examine the scenery. There’s plenty of cars but not a lot of people, you know, seeing that it’s dusk in Brooklyn, people are kinda settling down ‘cause it’s not tourist season. The stores are–for the most part–shutting down, and the ones that aren’t don’t have a ton of foot traffic, anyway, so whatever. There’s this guy talking to this other guy who I think works at the store. He’s kinda goofy. What the fuck is he doing? Please tell me he’s not trying to put on a one-man show, ‘cause that’s what it looks like. Ah, whatever, who the fuck cares.
Lemme just go back to not being here anymore.