I woke up at about 4 o’clock, in the white hotel bed. I turned over to face Xian, who was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling as gently as a feather falling from the sky. I stared at his beautiful face and the long black curls that cascaded around his face, framing it beautifully. To me, Xian was perfect, which only made it harder for me to know that he would and could never truly be mine.
Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as I thought about him and the times we had spent together. I slipped on my jumper and left his room, heading straight for the room I was sharing. When I reached my room the tears had travelled down to my chin and were proceeding to trickle down my neck. The blonde girl I was sharing with was snoring loudly into her pillow. She rolled over in her bed as I walked past her and I froze for a few seconds; making sure she wasn’t going to wake up.
I grabbed my toiletries bag from my suitcase and rushed into the bathroom. Hidden amongst the fragranced goods was my one true release. Drugs would never be able to give me the satisfaction that the feeling of the cold, sharp razor blade running across my skin would. I gripped the plastic-pink handle of the razor blade, running through conversations in my head. I remembered the promises I would break and the people I would upset if I just ran the blade across my skin once.
I looked down at my shaking hands and realised that I was shaking all over. I breathed in quickly, biting back tears. I hated crying. It was a huge weakness of mine, and something I once punished myself for doing. I settled down the razor and rubbed my eyes, forcing myself to stop crying. Every part of my face ached from the tears and my eyes were beginning to sting. I took another deep breath and rolled up my sleeves. My arm showed scars in many stages of healing. I had stopped cutting for a while, so most of the scars were fading and would soon become just one of the many white lines that covered my body.
I chose a patch of skin on my arm that was devoid of cuts and, pressing a little too deeply, I moved the razor across my skin. The raging sting shot through my arm and the tears stopped falling. Blood slowly crept to the surface of my skin, not enough to make a mess, but enough for the pain to slice through my soul and release me of some of the mental pain I was feeling. I felt safe in the knowledge that physical pain was much better and easier to deal with than the mental pain.
An image of Xian lying in the bed flashed into my memory and I sliced once more, a little deeper this time. The three parallel cuts shimmered as blood rose to them and the sting once again ripped through me.
Once I was sure that the tears were gone, I replaced the razor in the side pocket of my toiletries bag and put the bag back into the suitcase. I walked slowly and silently back into the room, like a predator seeking prey. I reached my suitcase and pulled out my nightdress. I crawled under the covers and pulled off my day clothes. I then slipped on my nightdress, pulling the sleeves down over my cuts.
That night, every time I thought of Xian, I would dig my nails into the fresh cuts on the side of my arm, sending a beautiful burning pain through my arm.