(Oneshot rated for contents) It trickled down my legs, warm but cold at the same time.
My face was set in stone as I did this. It was a habit, cutting myself.
Everyone know about it. Nobody cared enough to even try to help me though. It wasn't like I tried to hide them anymore.
I was past the point of caring. At times, I was close to trying to kill myself.
The only thing that kept me going was music. It made me feel like I wasn't so alone.
But then the song will end. And I really would be alone. More so than before.
I pulled my stained white shorts down, the pink laying over the cuts and soaking up the new blood. Holding the stained pocket knife in my hand, I turned it around, staring at it.
Chills ran up my spine as I saw myself in my head, digging the blade into my wrist and dragging it down. With a rough shiver, I closed the knife and sat it back on the table, pushing the play button on my CD player.
Music blasted out as I lay back, crossing my arms over my chest. If I could just go to sleep and never wake up, I'd be happy.
The bottom of the page was stained with red. That was where the journal left off. It was the only thing that hadn't been ripped out.
When I'd found this in the back of my closet, I thought it was just something I'd lost. It'd been pushed up against the wall so it was flat, blending into the shadows.
But it wasn't mine. The handwriting was a girl's. And there wasn't a girl here.
Just me and the guys. "Hey Frankie!" Gee's voice rang down the hall, his footsteps close behind.
The door behind me opened. "Frankie? The pizza's here." He poked my head. "Frankie?"
Silently, I held the book out to him. He took it and read over the short page. "Oh haha. Very funny. What is this, fake blood?" He asked, sniffing the page.
His face paled as he smelt the dust and blood. "It's not fake." I whispered, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the palm of my hand.
"Oh. Frankie." He pulled me into a hug. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my face into his shirt.
"I wanna help her, Gee." I breathed. His arms tightened.
"Me too." He murmured. "But we don't even know who she is."
"I don't care. We can find her." I said stubbornly.
"Alright." He sighed. "But after dinner." He helped me up.
We searched the family that had lived here before us. They'd had a daughter.
Her name was Eliza Burn. She was dead. She'd killed herself.
Gee and I went to her grave the next day. Her headstone had a picture of her.
She was beautiful, her hair long and straight, her eyes bright. Fair skin. Red lips, brown eyes and blond hair.
I set my flowers on the grave and kneeled in front of the headstone. "I'm sorry we were too late to help you." I whispered.
Gee took my hand and helped me up. Tears trailed down my face as we walked off.
Hugs and Doves,