Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Letting Go
Chapter 4
2 ReviewsWARNING - This chapter could be a SEVERE trigger for anyone who cuts. READ WITH CAUTION.
The feeling of the bathroom floor against my leg reminds me of how it felt at the hospital. I don’t think too much about it though. How can I after what’s happened tonight?
I don’t want to remember anything. Ray gets this. He’s left me alone since we got home. I don’t know whether this is because he knows I need space or if it’s because he’s afraid I’ll try to kill him again. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, and that I wasn’t trying to kill him. But I just don’t have the energy to even open my mouth and speak anymore. Everything has just drained me. It hasn’t helped that Mikey hasn’t stopped trying to make me tell him everything that happened. I can’t tell them anything. Not yet. I’ll give it time, see what happens.
I think I’ve completely stopped throwing up now. I’ve chucked about seven times, each time worse than the last – especially when I ran out of anything to throw up. I’ve been in the bathroom for six hours and twenty nine minutes. It’s about 5:30am but I don’t feel tired at all.
Something glints in the corner of my eye. It’s a small, flat piece of something hard – and it’s so shiny. So shiny in face that it reflects my face. I realize that it’s a mirror. I look up and see that it’s fallen off our motel mirror. We actually live in this motel and we’ve never even thought about giving it a coat of paint. This place is just falling to pieces – literally – and nobody cares enough to try and fix it.
I can really relate to this motel.
I touch the mirror and quickly retract my hand with a sharp intake of breath. Its jagged edge has caused my finger to bleed all over the floor. I think about how interesting blood is. I watch it, fascinated, as drop after drop falls from my finger onto the floor, creating tiny red puddles. I want to see more. My finger isn’t enough. Being careful not to cut any of my other fingers, I slowly pick up the mirror. I gently press it onto my wrist until I can feel the skin breaking. I drag it across the width of my wrist and watch in satisfaction as the red liquid begins to seep through the break. I do this all the way up my arm.
All the time I’m crying and whispering his name.
Frank.
I don’t want to remember anything. Ray gets this. He’s left me alone since we got home. I don’t know whether this is because he knows I need space or if it’s because he’s afraid I’ll try to kill him again. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, and that I wasn’t trying to kill him. But I just don’t have the energy to even open my mouth and speak anymore. Everything has just drained me. It hasn’t helped that Mikey hasn’t stopped trying to make me tell him everything that happened. I can’t tell them anything. Not yet. I’ll give it time, see what happens.
I think I’ve completely stopped throwing up now. I’ve chucked about seven times, each time worse than the last – especially when I ran out of anything to throw up. I’ve been in the bathroom for six hours and twenty nine minutes. It’s about 5:30am but I don’t feel tired at all.
Something glints in the corner of my eye. It’s a small, flat piece of something hard – and it’s so shiny. So shiny in face that it reflects my face. I realize that it’s a mirror. I look up and see that it’s fallen off our motel mirror. We actually live in this motel and we’ve never even thought about giving it a coat of paint. This place is just falling to pieces – literally – and nobody cares enough to try and fix it.
I can really relate to this motel.
I touch the mirror and quickly retract my hand with a sharp intake of breath. Its jagged edge has caused my finger to bleed all over the floor. I think about how interesting blood is. I watch it, fascinated, as drop after drop falls from my finger onto the floor, creating tiny red puddles. I want to see more. My finger isn’t enough. Being careful not to cut any of my other fingers, I slowly pick up the mirror. I gently press it onto my wrist until I can feel the skin breaking. I drag it across the width of my wrist and watch in satisfaction as the red liquid begins to seep through the break. I do this all the way up my arm.
All the time I’m crying and whispering his name.
Frank.
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