The Razor's Edge
Chapter 1
The wind was cold on my tear stained face as I walked home from school. I traveled the short way up the road and into my house. My mom hadn't gotten home yet. Good, I thought, she'd ask too many questions.
I went to my room, slipped my jacket off, and flopped on my bed. I grabbed my blanket to wipe away my tears. This can't be happening, I told myself, He couldn't have left me for her.
All the times he said he loved me, that there was no one else for him, all lies. How could it be possible for someone to look you right in the eyes and deceive you like that? I thought he cared about me, but no, it was always about her.
The worst part is that she had been, or so I thought, my best friend. And she definitely had her part in it, too. Somewhere in the middle of our more than one-year relationship, he’d told her that it was her he loved, that I was just ‘something to do’ to pass the time until she broke up with her boyfriend.
It’s all very confusing.
Not only did she not tell me, but when I talked to her about whether or not I should sleep with him, something I don’t take lightly, she encouraged it (as she told me in her unaccepted apology, it was after he told her). Her words were etched in my mind— “If you want to, go for it. He loves you, you love him, so why not?”
Lies. All lies.
Lying there in my bed, I didn’t know much longer I could take the pain. It felt like I was going to explode. Then I thought of something.
I had no idea why this of all things came to mind, but I went to my dad’s night table drawer where he kept random things. I knew it was there. After looking around for a while, I found it. His razor.
I took the cover off and looked at it. For such a small thing, it seemed so menacing. I was nervous as l touched the blade to my wrist and slid it across.
Little drops of blood surfaced and formed a line identical to the one I’d just traced. I looked at it for a while, wondering what to do now.
After what seemed like eternity, I went to my room and put on my black sweatshirt to cover up my bleeding wrist. My little secret, I thought.
That instant, I realized how much my life had changed in one day. Or maybe the change had been going on for far longer than that, not revealed until today.
I curled up on my bed and hugged my knees to my chest. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done; the idea had never before crossed my mind. I now understood what I never had before—why. Why someone would want to hurt themselves. I used to never be able to imagine doing that, and here I was, lying in my bed, blood seeping through my sweatshirt, staining my blanket. I never understood the purpose of it—I thought it was pointless. How ignorant I was. I regretted ever thinking those thoughts.
This could be bad. I realized. I knew from a friend’s experience just how addicting this could get…
I lay there and drifted off to sleep, wondering what would become of me.
I went to my room, slipped my jacket off, and flopped on my bed. I grabbed my blanket to wipe away my tears. This can't be happening, I told myself, He couldn't have left me for her.
All the times he said he loved me, that there was no one else for him, all lies. How could it be possible for someone to look you right in the eyes and deceive you like that? I thought he cared about me, but no, it was always about her.
The worst part is that she had been, or so I thought, my best friend. And she definitely had her part in it, too. Somewhere in the middle of our more than one-year relationship, he’d told her that it was her he loved, that I was just ‘something to do’ to pass the time until she broke up with her boyfriend.
It’s all very confusing.
Not only did she not tell me, but when I talked to her about whether or not I should sleep with him, something I don’t take lightly, she encouraged it (as she told me in her unaccepted apology, it was after he told her). Her words were etched in my mind— “If you want to, go for it. He loves you, you love him, so why not?”
Lies. All lies.
Lying there in my bed, I didn’t know much longer I could take the pain. It felt like I was going to explode. Then I thought of something.
I had no idea why this of all things came to mind, but I went to my dad’s night table drawer where he kept random things. I knew it was there. After looking around for a while, I found it. His razor.
I took the cover off and looked at it. For such a small thing, it seemed so menacing. I was nervous as l touched the blade to my wrist and slid it across.
Little drops of blood surfaced and formed a line identical to the one I’d just traced. I looked at it for a while, wondering what to do now.
After what seemed like eternity, I went to my room and put on my black sweatshirt to cover up my bleeding wrist. My little secret, I thought.
That instant, I realized how much my life had changed in one day. Or maybe the change had been going on for far longer than that, not revealed until today.
I curled up on my bed and hugged my knees to my chest. I couldn’t believe what I’d just done; the idea had never before crossed my mind. I now understood what I never had before—why. Why someone would want to hurt themselves. I used to never be able to imagine doing that, and here I was, lying in my bed, blood seeping through my sweatshirt, staining my blanket. I never understood the purpose of it—I thought it was pointless. How ignorant I was. I regretted ever thinking those thoughts.
This could be bad. I realized. I knew from a friend’s experience just how addicting this could get…
I lay there and drifted off to sleep, wondering what would become of me.