bathtub
She always filled the tub up halfway with water. She couldn't remember how or where she'd gotten the notion to do so from, but it didn't really matter. Now it was just automatic, something she always did.
The rim of the bathtub was slick when she leaned against it, hands dangling over the edge as she stared down into the water. Red curled through the clear, dying it a thin shade of pink. It was fascinating to watch.
The razor balanced precariously between her lifeless fingers, its edge coated crimson. It wasn't dripping anymore, though. Instead it was the thin lacerations on her forearms that donated red to the clear water, changing its color.
She smiled, eyes dry as the bones that were almost visible through the cuts. She knew there would be scars later, but that was alright. She knew how to hide - how to keep people believing in the happy mask that this therapy provided her.
For now she was happy, staring down at the blood in the water, watching it spiral until it wasn't itself anymore, but instead something else almost entirely. It was beautiful to watch, seeing it mix and blend until it belonged where it was. She couldn't do that, but it was fascinating to know that her blood could do what the body it flowed through could not.
The razor fell from her fingers to land with a dull splash, sinking beneath the surface trailing violent red ribbons from its edge. Giggling quietly she watched its descent, smiling at the blade as it lay beneath the water, reflecting silver back at her. Unlike the blood on its edge, the razor didn't quietly dissolve away but stubbornly held its shape, refusing to be part of the material that surrounded it.
How silly of the razor, to think it could survive that way. How terribly silly of it.
She closed her eyes, and began to cry.
How silly.
The rim of the bathtub was slick when she leaned against it, hands dangling over the edge as she stared down into the water. Red curled through the clear, dying it a thin shade of pink. It was fascinating to watch.
The razor balanced precariously between her lifeless fingers, its edge coated crimson. It wasn't dripping anymore, though. Instead it was the thin lacerations on her forearms that donated red to the clear water, changing its color.
She smiled, eyes dry as the bones that were almost visible through the cuts. She knew there would be scars later, but that was alright. She knew how to hide - how to keep people believing in the happy mask that this therapy provided her.
For now she was happy, staring down at the blood in the water, watching it spiral until it wasn't itself anymore, but instead something else almost entirely. It was beautiful to watch, seeing it mix and blend until it belonged where it was. She couldn't do that, but it was fascinating to know that her blood could do what the body it flowed through could not.
The razor fell from her fingers to land with a dull splash, sinking beneath the surface trailing violent red ribbons from its edge. Giggling quietly she watched its descent, smiling at the blade as it lay beneath the water, reflecting silver back at her. Unlike the blood on its edge, the razor didn't quietly dissolve away but stubbornly held its shape, refusing to be part of the material that surrounded it.
How silly of the razor, to think it could survive that way. How terribly silly of it.
She closed her eyes, and began to cry.
How silly.