Does Your Lack of Conscience Tell You Everything's Alright?

It's quiet. August is at school; Aaron is at work; Alex's parents are out doing who knows what; Alex and Jack are at band practice.

I'm here alone.

Alex did invite me to his band practice but I declined. I'm not up to meeting new people today. That's the last thing I want to do.

Though I'd rather not be here alone. It's kind of creepy. Every unexplainable noise has me in hysterics. I don't know why. Maybe I'm just not ready to stay anywhere on my own.

But I want to prove I can. I don't want to be treated like a toddler for the rest of my life. No one has faith in me staying by myself. Alex was hesitant to leave for practice. Jack even threw me over his shoulder and attempted to walk out the door.

That didn't go over too well with me.

I can't help that I don't want any man to touch me. That's all Jeffery's fault. If it weren't for him, I'd be perfectly fine.

I wish Jeffery would just go away, just disappear from my mind. But he won't. He's grasped onto my thoughts like a parasite, causing my brain to deteriorate into madness.

I pushed Alex away this morning. He hugged me from behind. I knew it was him but for some reason his touch scared me. He looked so hurt when I jumped out of his arms. I felt bad about it. In all my time of knowing Alex, that hasn't happened. So why now?

Because of that damn dream.

Or nightmare.

It was definitely a nightmare.

It started out just fine. Alex and I were talking and kissing. The normal things couples do. Alex wanted to take things "to the next level"; I did too. As things got to be more physical, he became more like Jeffery; his touch burned.

And then he morphed into Jeffery.

I woke up after that, jolted awake with sweat dripping down my forehead.

It was so realistic. It scared me.

What if I can never let Alex get that close to me? What if I've been so scarred that, by the time we get to that point in our relationship, I won't be able to let him touch me without crying?

I'm not good for Alex.

I'll never be good enough for Alex.

I'm a rape victim, plain and fucking simple. I'll never be anything more than that.

Alex deserves better than me, better than some stupid whore who was too afraid to tell people what was happening to her when she had the chance.

I should have never left Jeffery. I could function just fine there. I knew he was going to kill me. I was okay with that.

He should have killed me.

Alex wouldn't have to deal with me then. He could find someone better.

Someone who isn't afraid of sex.

Maybe I should leave.

But I can't runway like that. I couldn't hurt Alex.

Maybe I should finish what Jeffery started.

No one would miss me. No one would care.

No one ever did care.

I stand from my seat on the couch and walk to the kitchen. The blades on the knife rack glimmer. They're inviting. I think they want me to do this, want to dig themselves into my skin.

I can't think of a better way to do this. I don't deserve something quick and painless. I deserve to hurt. I'm used to being hurt. I don't know anything other than that.

I grasp the largest knife in the set, posing it above my left wrist.

Now or never.

I press it down on the skin. Pain surges through my arm. I gasp. The blade travels across my arm. I don't look at it. In fact, I dissociate myself completely from the hand holding the blade; it's as if someone else is taking my life force. Warmth trickles down my arm. My fingers are numb. The throbbing sensation is so mind-consuming. The blade falls to the ground.

And so do I.

If Jeffery were here, he'd call me a good girl.