• I ignore the question as I slam the door shut and lock it.
    “Leave me alone! I need to think,” I yell.
    I’m in a bit of a predicament.
    I don’t know a way of coping.
    I need to spend some time.
    I need to figure this thing out.

    With a sigh and the roll of my eyes,
    I plop myself onto the queen-sized bed,
    Hoping with everything I’ve got that I would just cease to exist.
    In any world or on any timeline.
    It doesn’t matter one bit when it comes to me.
    I just don’t want to exist.
    Period.
    Bottom line.
    It’s a pain just to exist.
    You have to think about things you don’t want to.
    You have to deal with emotions you don’t want to.

    I close my eyes.
    I breathe slowly and deeply,
    Trying to clear my mind.
    For a moment, it’s dead quiet.
    Then I suddenly stand up.
    I angrily rip my light blue, floral printed nightgown off of my body.
    So many emotions ripple through me at this point.
    I feel like I’m going to explode.
    No. Not now. I have to get ready for work.
    I struggle to shove the horrid, sickly feeling way down south.
    Deep into the depths of my soul.
    I search for a pair of scrubs in the dresser drawers and closet.

    I suddenly stand in the middle of the room stark naked,
    Trying to slow my racing breaths.
    My vision blurs with tears.
    I see a bright red boxcutter near the edge of the desk.
    I approach, knowing full well what I’m about to do and not caring.
    I swipe the sharp object from the desk.
    I clench it tightly in my right hand.
    “I want this to go away,” I whisper.
    Tears roll along my cheeks and drip from my chin.

    I make the first cut,
    Pressing hard up against my skin,
    Allowing the blood to be brought to the surface.
    I then make a few more cuts in a more rapid succession.
    It feels good.
    It feels really good!
    I like seeing my blood race along my arm.
    I have the urge to lick it, but I don’t.
    Do I have mental problems?
    Yes, I know I do.
    I’m not afraid of them.
    In fact, I embrace them.
    I give them all the love that they could ever want.

    I watch as my life-giving liquids roll thickly along my pale flesh.
    I know full well what I’m doing and how dangerous it is.
    Does this stop me?
    No, I want more in fact.
    I can’t get enough!
    I suddenly hear banging on the bedroom door.
    Do I ignore and continue?
    I do, but then the banging becomes almost like a full body slam into the door.
    I can hear someone kick at the golden-colored doorknob.

    I make a few more slices,
    Feeling myself finally calm down.
    This is just as the door bursts open from a bent in doorframe.
    That’s going to cost money to replace, but I don’t care.
    I stand there in the middle of the room,
    Stark naked,
    Bright red blood dripping along my left forearm.
    “Go away and allow me to finish,” I whisper.


    Mark enters the room.
    I can’t gauge his expression.

    “Go away,” I holler at him, still clenching the blade in my hand.
    It’s hot, wet, slippery, just how I like it.
    It kind of turns me on in a way.
    I’m addicted and I can’t help it.
    I’m not broken so don’t try and fix me.

    Mark slowly approaches me.
    I shake my head furiously,
    Hiding my already exposed wounds.
    I back up against the wall.
    “Nothing! Look. I have to get dressed. I’m going to be late.”
    What do I say at a time like this?
    Do I apologize?
    What would I even be apologizing for?

    Mark doesn’t say anything.
    His eyes are trained on me.
    He continues to slowly approach.
    He reaches his hand around behind me.
    He swipes the boxcutter,
    Never mind the fact that I’m stark naked,
    Never mind that I’m a heterosexual woman and he’s a heterosexual man.
    I guess that’s the least of his worries for the moment.
    “Give that to me. Just what do you think you’re doing?”

    I allow him to take the boxcutter without a fight.
    I sigh,
    Sitting down on the floor,
    Feeling the cold seep through my pale flesh.
    “I honestly don’t know.”
    I look up at him.
    I’m waiting for his response.
    Would he yell at me?
    Would he throw the boxcutter at me?
    “I…” The words are stuck inside of me.
    “Why? Why…do…I…?”
    I’m struggling to speak.
    I’m an idiot.

    “That’s not…”
    He sighs and sits down on the floor behind me.
    He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close,
    Looking at the cuts on my arm.
    “Why? I want to understand.”


    I’m now rigid.
    My next words sound so harsh and distant.
    It’s outside of my usual character.
    My voice sounds low and harsh, almost raspy.
    “Why don’t you just get it over with?”
    He wants it, right? Just like any other man.

    He just holds me as if he’s afraid to let go.
    “I think this is what some women need. Not sexual pleasure.”
    His words sound so foreign to me.
    I don’t know what to think.
    It’s not everyday a man tells me something like this.

    I can feel his breath on my ear.
    Things begin to feel really heated.
    My heart begins to pound.
    “Shut up!”
    Oh my gosh! What have I gotten myself into?!
    I want to squeal and melt, but I refuse to allow myself to do so.
    I’m not in the mood and it wouldn’t suit this scene anyway.

    His voice tenses up with his next words.
    “Agnus, you’re not well!”
    He continues to hold me close to him, obviously not wanting to let me go.
    He buries his face in my hair, smelling the sweet coconut scent.