Part 2

                                    

                                          

           
            My eyes try to slowly open. I feel immense pain in my wrist. Shock waves flow throughout my body. My eyes resisting to open. A warm pool of blood lays underneath my body, calling the floor its home. The pain finally wakes me up. My eyes dart around the room. Blood soaking up on the floor. A harsh towel holding my wrist in place. It had tried its hardest to keep its natural color, but the blood had pushed its way through. Another shock runs through my body. An echo of water falling outside, rings throughout the bathroom. The sound of blood dripping from the sink tries to compete. As the pain grows, I lay there. Trying to figure out what happened. My brain rattles and starts to remember the night before. I tighten the towel around my wrist. Hoping that what I had done worked, I start to stand. My clothes, soaked in blood, I walked out of the bathroom and headed for the kitchen sink. I kneel down to grab the bleach and alcohol that rests under my sink. The alcohol is almost empty from previous uses and the bleach is only half full. I grab them both and place them on top of the counter. I go back into the bathroom to find a needle and some thread. I slowly open the cabinet above the sink that is drenched in blood. I take the needle and thread, heading back to the kitchen. I place the supplies down next to the bleach, picking up the alcohol with my shaking hand. As I unwrap the towel from my wrist, more blood starts to fall onto the sink. I grab a cotton swab and douse it in alcohol. I put it close to my wrist. As I start to dab it on my open wound, a stinging pain runs up my arm. I try my best to ignore the pain as I continue to put more on. As I finish up disinfecting my wound, I start to wipe off all of the blood that coated my arm. I turn my sight back to the needle. I dread having to use it again. I tie the thread through the needle. I wipe off my wrist again, trying to prolong this past as long as possible. Grabbing the needles, I shakily begin to stitch up my wrist. Every time it goes through my skin, another shock wave of pain runs through me. With the last stitch, I tie off the thread and wrap a bandage around my wrist. I rest both my arms on the countertop, looking out the window. Seeing the calm rain outside, wishing my life could go back to how it was. My moment of peace quickly ends as I reach for the blood red towel and the half empty bottle of bleach. I turn the sink faucet on, draping the towel underneath it. I rub the towel through my hands, trying to get as much blood off as I can. Picking up the bleach and pouring a small bit onto the damp towel. I leave the towel there to soak. Carefully, I walk back over to the bathroom. I grab the knife that had been resting in the sink the whole night. It had been painted with blood mere hours ago. I picked it up with a firm grip and bring it over to the kitchen sink, rinsing it off above the towel. As I finally drop it down on the towel that had rested below it, I fall down to the ground. Realizing my shirt still had blood on it, I threw it off to leave me in just my binder. I grabbed my knees, cold and alone, I sat there crying. The rain outside was my only comfort. The house filled with darkness, the sun had not even thought to rise yet. My binder, compressing my chest, was the only thing that resembled a hug. I haven't taken it off in days. Too afraid to see my body, the body that didn't fit me. So I continued to sit, alone in the dark, no one to comfort me, no one to talk to, no one to ask for help. My head resting on my knees. The same knees that had been doused in tears for months now. My legs, hardly holding up my knees. They could barely stay up. MY back resting up against the counter. The counter supporting my back while also leaving marks on me. My eyes, so tired of crying. Every day, without fail, I would cry. My eyes sore, nose red and cheeks wet. I pull my arm up to wipe off the tears, just for more to come raging down. My head going crazy with thoughts. I'm not good enough, I'm not worth it, I failed everyone.  I start to hear the crickets go silent, the sun beginning to flow into the dim house. As the sun lights up the house, my thoughts slowdown and stop. I lift my head up and see that warm sunlight shining through. The last batch of tears fall down my cheek, my arm follows up again to wipe them off. I try to stand, falling over a couple of times, but finally I gain enough strength to get up and walk to my room. A family photo hanging over my bed sends a reminder throughout my body. I open my closer door to find an old black hoodie that reads "Stark" over the front of it. I take it off its hanger and pull it over my head. The warm hoodie brings me a sense of love. Remembering how I got it after my stark internship. I grab my phone that was silently sitting on top of my dresser, I put it in my hoodie pocket. I close the closet door and head towards the entry of my room. I walk to the front door, grabbing my worn out shoes. I put them on as I have fond memories of Mr.Stark. As I finished tying my left shoe, I walk out the front door. I head over to an old wooden rocking chair that rests on the porch. This had always been my favorite chair, I had even carved my initials into it when I was younger. I sit down, a roof over my head, as I watch the rain fall to damp soil. The river running with continuous drops of rainfall on top of it. I sit, rocking in the old chair, watching the rain hit the pine trees. The sound of the water falling brings a soothing feeling to run all over my body. As my body begs me for food, I ignore it. I leave my body to suffer. I close my eyes for a few minutes, letting the ambience of the outside world bring me a sense of peace for a few moments. A calming breeze brings some of the rain water to my body. My eyes open again, realizing that this peace won't last long. I look down at my wrist, covered with a bandage, still seeing the scars that cover my arm. I unwrap the bandage, hoping that those violet words are finally gone. The words that had changed my life, the words that made me lose hope. As the last parts of the bandage come loose, they reveal that my efforts had failed once again. A look of disappointment spreads on my face. My head falls back and I mutter softly, "Day 108".