The moment the piece of paper was signed I got out of there. The burning was getting unbearable, I needed to get back to my cheap hotel room. The moment my door was closed and locked, I opened my bag.
“Where is it?” I muttered, as I scattered my things around my room in search. No, it can't be gone. I swear I packed it. The fiery itching was constant now and I could feel myself growing more desperate as I searched and re-searched. I cursed under my breath again and again each time the search turned up empty. I glanced at what I had remembered to pack and caught site of the razor. I sat still and tried to make myself think sensibly. It had been a long time since I'd hurt myself. But it had also been a long time since I hadn't been in a haze of some sort. I stood and walked across the small room to the pile of things strewn on the faded carpet.
I picked up the razor and starred at it. No doubt the horrible pain would go away if I got rid of the blood screaming at me. But then I'd have to go excessive lengths to hide the scars which was always a pain. I walked into the dingy bathroom and caught site of myself in the mirror. I needed to get something stronger to hide the dark circles if I was going to part of a signed band. I sat on the edge of the bath and looked at the razor again. It was shaking violently because my own body was in pain. I hated this symptom the most, nearly every interview I found my own body shaking near the end, as if it was struggling to contain it's internal scream. I tried going in an interview high, but I think they could tell.
I took off my right shoe and sock and swung my leg over the side of the bath, lifting my jeans as I did. Most people look at your wrist if they suspect you, I learned that during adolescence.
If a person sees you limp, just say your clumsy and fell. They never questioned further. People are easy to fool sometimes. I held the razor against the top of my ankle and with a quick flick of my wrist, pulled across. The sharp agony was there instantly, but was quickly taken away as my own body pumped endorphins through me. Trying to lessen the pain. I could feel all the tainted blood that yearned for the drugs leaving. But it wasn't enough. I could still feel the burning. I tore the razor across again and bit down on my lip to stop a yelp of pain. I tasted blood straight away but didn't care. The pain of biting my lip did nothing for me. No, the real rush was from more powerful pain, something that cut deeper. I had to cut deep if I wanted to get rid of the bad stuff.
I stopped when I could feel my ankle growing numb and reached for the shower head. It didn't take long to wash the red pool down the drain. Then I grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it round. It would stop me leaving a trail while I searched for bandages in my bag. Strange, how I remembered those, but not the weed. Maybe my body knew I was trying to cheat it. Give it something that wouldn't satisfy it.
Once my ankle was covered I flopped onto the small bed and starred at the single bulb ceiling light. I wished I'd though to ask Rody's PA if he could pay for my travel and room now. Then I wouldn't have to deal with this damn withdrawal. I thought back to the meeting and leaned over to unpack my laptop.
Just who was that Jaimie guy anyway? If I was going to have to live with him and Robin I wanted to know. I scanned the first few hits and recalled the gleam I'd seen in his eyes. Sometimes I hated being right about people. Because he'd actually be pretty cute, once you got past that irritating smug grin of his.