Page 144 of Seizing Control: Part One

I shouldn’t have done it, not when I’ve let Zeke do so much worse to me.

Lies.

Secrets.

Abandonment.

The feelings that stain my psyche are hard to ignore.

I could cycle through all the pain and hurt, examine it a piece at a time, but I can’t.

The only thing I can do is bleed.

The manic rush that floods me as I make the decision causes me shake. I pant as I draw the sharp tip along my inner thigh. My skin parts, a new cut bisecting my past pain. The poison infecting me breaches the surface. It spills free, dampening the tattered material hanging around my leg as squeeze my flesh to make the cut bleed harder.

“Nothing.” The words Alex used to describe me erupts from my mouth in a disembodied tone. “Filthy. Damaged.” Another slice is opened up on my leg with an efficient stroke of my hand. “Jezebel.” With a sob, I flop back in the bath and fold my t-shirt under my breasts. Soft skin, marked by my loss of control, meets my eyes. My belly, soft and empty, is an easy target. “Useless. Disgusting. Unworthy.”

Three cuts, each one deeper than the last.

I drag my nails over the wounds.

It hurts so good.

As my wrist throbs, I turn my hand palm up and inspect the thin skin at the joint again.

It would be so easy.

Two slashes and time.

Slash...

He’d hate me if I killed myself.

The thought makes bile surge in my throat.

I wrap the fingers of my left hand around my neck.

For a moment, I’m comforted.

It ends too soon.

Slumping to the right as the repulsion gets the better of me, I feel my head spin and the world tilt in the wrong direction. The enamel is hard when it smashes into my cheek. For too long, I remain in this position, a crumbled mess that wants to end it all, but lacks the courage.

My heart refuses to accept that Zeke is dead.

My head won’t let me ignore how much my death would destroy Slash.

Those two thoughts urge me to let go of the razor.

One hand collaring my neck like my husband does, I hold my breath. The other hand scratches at the slices I’ve made in my stomach. They bleed freely. Mock me with my weakness. Indulge my need to hurt. Purge the filth that infects me as I examine the wreckage of my life.

I’ve lost it all.

My baby. Zeke. Slash.

My lungs burn.

I refuse to inhale.

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