Her finger nails tirelessly gnawed at the peeling, fraying wood lining her desk. The blistering cold outside did little to help the anger heating up inside of her. A strange kind of numbness had taken over and though her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, they were finally open for the first time in months. “How Dare he! HOW DARE HE!” she screamed inside her mind, not letting the tide of tears welling up in her eyes from flowing down. The skin beneath her nails began to blister but her mind was far too occupied to notice the blood droplets now staining her desk-top in a gory streak. The distinct pain she felt was all too familiar as she let herself feel it believing she deserved the entire ache she got. “What a liar, what a sore liar! How dare he take all the credit? How dare he!” she once again screamed in her mind as the thoughts from last night replayed in her crumbling brain. How he so innocently stood before her teachers, a hand on his heart, saying how proud he was for always being there for her, for getting her through this, for pushing her to recovery, for saving her. Her hands trembled, the blood beginning to boil inside her veins as they shook his hand again and again, glad their student had recovered thanks to his help. She knew it would do no good to tell them the truth. Tell them how he was a lying bastard, and that he was never there for her. She didn’t bother because she knew she was insane and they would surely prefer believing her father.
Her face was starting to turn red like the stains on her desk as she reminisced in the events from the night before. “Don’t do this to yourself again! Don’t do it!” her brain pleaded as she dug the wood further inside her finger tips. “I was all alone, it was all me. How dare he!” She felt ashamed and betrayed and bruised, how nobody acknowledged her efforts and blatantly believed the lies he fed them. It was hard to live in this world when you were broken into shards by something you could not control. She shook in rage as she remembered all those nights she wept on the bathroom floor, clutching her throat, suppressing the screams that tempted to be heard. She could still feel the hatred boiling through her as she looked down upon the world from the top of her apartment building, fractions away from jumping down. The feeling of having the blood pour down from her arms was still all too vivid in her head as her brain repeatedly chanted ‘deeper, deeper, deeper’. Yet here she sat reliving her sorrowful tale, and she had only herself to owe it to. She could only thank herself, because on each of those nights it was her who got off the bathroom floor, her who stepped down the ledge, her who wiped off all the blood and threw the blades down the sink. It was her who was now dusting up all the pieces. And it was her who had finally saved her. How dare he take all the credit.
She was bruised and she was broken, but she was still whole. She finally let the flush of tears run down her cheeks as tremors racked her frail body. The blood shining off her skin sent a wave of disgust through her as she hastily wiped it on her shirt. The bag she packed the night before was strapped upon her shoulder, as she carefully jumped down her window ledge; a jump that was finally going to lead to better things.