Gasping she reached for the knife at her side. Slowly, with practiced moves, she pulled the blade along her wrist like so many other times before. A small sound escaped her lips, but she quickly stifled it.

It was an addiction. As much as she knew it was wrong, she couldn’t stop. It was her way of avoiding the emotional pain she was in. She had promised him that she would stop. But really, they both knew it was false hope. Another lie.

Soon her wrists were covered in a fresh pattern of red to accompany the faded ones before them. Not deep, but ugly and raw. Wiping the evidence that dripped red hot from her arm she turned away from the mess she’d created.

It seemed as if the night would never end. The echo of the silent room rung in her ears and, with nothing to keep her company but her thoughts, she surrendered to them.