Chasing Second Chances

“You?”

“That’s right.” Carefully he slid past me, taking a look around. “Seems like I knocked in the nick of time.”

My energy seemed to melt into the carpet as he picked up my blade.

“Can’t you just leave me alone.”

“Afraid I can’t do that, you’re under my care now.” I watched in slight fascination as he spun the blade between his fingers. “Now, let’s search the house shall we?”

“Search the house for what?”

“What do you think?”

Horror seeped from every pore as he slowly found each blade.

How could he find those so easily when I worked so hard to keep them hidden?

Every blade that had been hidden in the living room was now in a neat row on the coffee table.

He’s mocking me.

Mocking me and tempting me with my own demise.

“Now the kitchen.”

It wasn’t until he started piling up the knives was I able to find my voice. “Is this a joke? I cook with those.”

“Now that your blades are gone, you’re going to use anything necessary to try and finish what you started. That includes these steak knives.”

“Well in that case, I could be really creative and use anything I wanted. I could use a pencil for crying out loud.”

“Which is exactly why you’ll be under my surveillance twenty four seven.”

What kind of living hell is this?

I should have never answered the door.

Why did I have to answer the door!?

I was mere seconds from finalizing what I had always dreamed.

“And how do you plan on doing that while we’re both working?”

“You’ll take leave from work, simple as that. As for myself, I feel all of my attention needs to be focused here.”

He can’t do this.

Isn’t this an invasion of privacy?

My attention snapped back to the invader as his fingers slid under the sink.

I watched as his hand whipped back out, a trail of blood running from his finger tips.

A sick sense of envy coursed through me at the sight.

Why does he get the pleasure of bleeding while I have to stand here and watch?

In a trance I watched his every move as he turned on the water, letting the cool trickle caress his injuries.

“Don’t have that one wrapped up very well do you?” Again he ventured under the sink, this time pulling out the blade that I had just used this morning. “This is a little over the top don’t you think?”

“I whole heartedly agree, so you can leave now.”

“We’ve only went through the living room and kitchen and we’ve found, at least ten blades not including the steak knives. I can only imagine how many are in your bedroom.”

The thing beating in my chest thrummed a little harder as he opened the bedroom door.

“With the way you hide these with such care, it’s like you were waiting for someone to ransack your place.”

There’s only one blade that he hasn’t found yet.

Please, please don’t find it!

“You found them so easily.”

“Now let’s see how many are in the bathroom.”

He didn’t find it.

He left it behind.

There’s still hope.

“There are none in the bathroom, that’s too obvious.”

Still he proceeded to search, finding exactly what I had offered.

Nothing.

“Do you not have any band aids? What kind of cutter doesn’t have any band aids?”

My hatred for this intruder continued to grow with each passing second.

“Don’t call me a cutter.”

Squatting down I rummaged through the bottom drawer, in search of the box.

“That’s exactly what you are, why shouldn’t I call you that?”

Angrily I thrust the box into his chest. “You shouldn’t call me that because that’s not what I am.”

“Than what are you?”

Looking him right in the eyes I took in a steady breath. “A tortured soul.”

Closing the door to my room, the thoughts began to take over once again.

A tortured soul?

Can I classify myself as a tortured soul when the only person torturing me is me?

This man is here trying to help me and I feel the need to hate him.

No, I don’t hate him.

I hate me, more than he could ever fathom.

As quietly as possible I lifted the mattress, finding my one and only blade not taken over by the doctor.

I hate myself for doing this.

I hate myself for being alive.

The world would be a better place without me.

Tristan wouldn’t have to waste anymore of his time here, with me.

He wouldn’t have to see this pathetic, ugly person that I’ve become.

That intoxicating sting lifted my spirits as I trail the blade across my skin.

As the blood began to ooze down my legs and arms I let out a sigh of relief.

The pain can only be momentarily forgotten by creating a different form of pain.

This is the only way I can survive.

This is the only way I can make it.

A gentle throbbing soon took over, the sweet solace quickly slipping away.

Just kill yourself.

Just do it.

There shouldn’t be anything holding you back.

Just do it!

A yelp echoed in the room as the blade was snatched from my hand.

“Now that you have that out of your system, recovery can finally begin.”

“No! No! Give it back! Please! You couldn’t find it, you couldn’t find that one, it’s mine.”

Hysteria was quick to set in as I realized the situation, as I saw the look on his face.

“You think I wouldn’t have known you had a blade hiding under your mattress?” Blood and tears began to pool on the floor. “Clean yourself up and get some rest. Tomorrow is when your will is going to be truly tested.”

Tristan left a towel and some bandages before closing the door.

How did this happen?

How could I allow myself to get caught?

How could I allow myself to live?