I lashed out at the walls, the piles of clothes on my bed; anything that would absorb my hand so I could let all this consuming guilt out and away from me. But the more I did it the more starving I got, craving for something to hit, something to bite.
"It's not your fault," The psychiatrist told me, "Some people just snap."
I nodded dumbly. She did not know how easily it was to snap, for her to snap. Blindly I fantasised about breaking each part of her body, then she would feel the pain I had. I wanted more than anything someone who would listen to me without comment, the shrinks didn't count, they only listened for money and pretended to care.
The burning started two days after going to court, in the base of my throat all the way to my heart and I would tear at it but it would still burn away, taking with it my sanity. I was pretty sure I was clinically insane, I just hid it well. The images of Hannah and the blood, the iron, the body, the giggle. Fists clenched, I would gag. Should it really be like this? Should I have felt so annoyed that it wasn't me when I technically did nothing. Didn't do anything to help, but neither did I do anything to stop it. The idea of Hannah in the prison was branded onto my brain, forcing into my line of sight everytime I closed my eyes. I could not get away from her. I longed for sleep. Sleep. Forget. Sleep. Forget. But I always saw her. I was scared.
Around school I walked in a daze. Those friends that could abandoned me as soon as they found out what had happened; those few I still kept only stayed out of pity. In all honesty solitude was the only thing I could rely on, that and my senses just to check that I was still human, even if I only finctioned half as well as I should.
That image! I tore at my hair and sandpapered my skin but the pain would not take it away. Over and over again I would appologise to Hannah, writing letters that I would never be able to post. I didn't even bother to get a stamp or even an envelope; I knew what I was going to do.