Cutting03 Jun, 2013 11:59 PM
There she sat, on the lid of the toilet bowl, with razor in hand. Her hair was tangled, undershirt torn, floral panties, and dirty socks on. She could see her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were rosy, cheeks striped with tracks from her mascara, her lips soaked with her tears. She felt like garbage. She let out a loud howl, and broke the mirror with her fists. Warm blood ran down her wrist like a river bend. She took the razor and dug into the inside of her thigh. The feeling was almost orgasmic. She cut again, forming an X mark and then an O. Yes, XO, for love.
Someone knocked on the bathroom door, causing her to shudder. The door knob turned, and she shot up, blocking the door with her body.
"Get away," she growled.
"What are you doing in there? I gotta take a dump!" the person yelled.
She hated the nosey, people that lived in the rooming house. There was never any privacy. Ever! She grabbed her jeans from off the floor and hurried to put them on. Then she flung the door open, while giving the man the finger. "I'd love to finger you," he said while grabbing his crotch. He noticed the blood on her arm, and it just made him even more excited. He was just that kind of pervert. But why didn't he just go in the damn bathroom? A glutton for punishment, I guess. he followed her up the steps, towards her room.
She stood in front of her door, stoically. "What do you want, freak?" she yelled, without turning to look at his ugly face.
"You know what I want, you sad girl, you. You wanna lollipop?"
And I don't know what happened, to her. Maybe she got a flashback, of that man who molested her that time, or the one who held her down, and yelled for his friends to come and fuck her. I really don't know. But she turned around, yielding that razor, and slashed his fucking neck with it. He grabbed his neck with both hands, trying to close the gaping wound. And he fell backwards, down the flight of steps. She pushed the razor deep in her pocket and rushed into her room. Pacing back and forth, like a lunatic, she didn't know what to do. Will the police suspect it was her? She ran to the medicine cabinet and grabbed a bottle of pills, and stuffed the pills into her mouth. She cupped a handful of water in her hands and swallowed. Then fell to the ground.
She wondered when she would die. She wondered, and wondered. And then there was a man standing over her, asking her if she was okay. This doesn't look like Heaven she thought. Did she fall asleep, what happened?
Her eyes adjusted, more, and she saw that he was a policeman. He had the kindest eyes she thought, before she found herself vomiting all over his uniform.
"That's okay. You're going to be alright," he said.
He then called to his partner. "She's alive!"
The partner walked over. "Let's get her in the car,"said he.
And they both helped her into the police car. And yes, she vomited again in the backseat. Still feeling a bit of nausea. And then she must of fell back asleep.
When she awoke, she was laying in a nice cozy bed, with a ceiling fan fluttering, a refreshing breeze over her body. She was clean, smelling of flowers, and with a white cotton nightgown on. The police officer came into the room with a tray of chicken soup and crackers. "I didn't want to wake you. No need to be frightened. I'm going to take very good care of you." He carefully opened her thighs. "You shouldn't do such things to yourself, you're too pretty." He leaned over and kissed the cuts on her legs.
She didn't flinch, although she knew this was quite strange. She soon heard footsteps and turned her head in the direction of them. And there was the other officer approaching. He didn't look nearly as kind as the other one, she thought.
And indeed he wasn't. He grabbed her wrists placing them in front of her body and locked a pair of handcuffs on her. Then he took off his police hat, and began to open the shirt of the other officer.
"Not now," said the kind one. "She just got here and I want to stay beside her." The officer looked pissed off, but then his eyes softened. "Fine, for now." He looked at the girl on the bed. "What are you going to name her?"
"I don't know. I always wanted to name my daughter something sophisticated. Something like Greta, or Sophia."
"Well, she doesn't look like a Greta or Sophia. More like a Mercedes or Tawana."
"Stop being so sarcastic. She's a gem. And now we have a family," he smiled.
And she drifted to sleep, again. Maybe they drugged her so she wouldn't scream and try to escape. Or maybe it was those damn pills, she took in her room. Or maybe she was just plain ole tired of being used, and just used to being used. She dreamed of the orgasmic feeling she received from cutting, that's the only time she felt in control. The officer tucked her in, and turned the ceiling fan off. He feared she'd get the sniffles. He picked up a novel from the nightstand, and began to hum, softly. Such a pretty voice he had.
He wondered how nice it would be if his new daughter had a brother. Twins would be ideal; but how silly, he thought. How could he find a boy that could be her twin. He decided that he'd ask her for any suggestions when she awakened.