Going crazy and somewhere, deep inside, knowing it, was torture. That was the only way I could describe it.
My wrists and arms were still covered in rusted over blood from the last time I'd seen Matt, but I didn't care. The fact that I knew I should've at least felt the tiniest bit of fear or regret is what scared me most, because I just didn't.
Those emotions were hidden deep beneath every other one. Happiness, paranoia, anger, love, anxiety, all of them had shown at one point at another, but I refused to let Matt know I was scared. So I was half way there to being a perfect example for the term "an open book."
"Please, you gotta let me outta here!" I grabbed a fistful of Matt's shirt, looking at him with pleading eyes.
He chuckled and set down a plate of food - if you could call it that - on a wooden stool by the door. "No can do. Unless you can pay off your debt in the space of two minutes, you're stuck here. How much was it again?" He counted on his fingers slowly, making me grow impatient. "Oh, yeah, only ten thousand dollars."
When he mentioned that, something in my mind clicked. I took a step back and began searching my pockets. It has to be here somewhere...
I thought to myself, when my hand ran across something cold and smooth in the pocket of my jacket. I took out the locket and shoved it into Matt's hands.
"Here. Worth more than triple what I owe you. Now please
, let me go.
" My words came out rushed and slurred, as if I was half drunk.
He studied it intently for a minute, and I hopped from one foot to another almost constantly, unable to keep still.
"Well, it looks real enough, but you can never be sure, can you?" He shrugged and began heading towards the door. "I'm keeping this, but you ain't getting out."
When the door closed, I heard him chuckle, and the anger built up in me. Growling in frustration, I threw the stool across the room along with the food. The plate shattered while the food slid to the floor in a sloppy mess. The chair just landed with a thump on top of everything else.
I stood for a minute, and my anger was quickly replaced with boredom. I huffed exasperatedly and stumbled over to the bed. As I sat down, my gaze flashed towards the shards of porcelain remaining from the broken plate. I looked down at my wrists, which were covered in not just blood, but scars from the previous times I'd done this.
Without thinking, I reached for the largest shard and brought it up to my face. I gave it a once over before deciding which edge was sharpest. Using that one, I pressed down on the skin of my wrist; the pressure just before it cut was such a strange sensation that I was yet to get used to. I pushed it further, smiling when it broke the skin. I gasped at the sensation, but it still didn't feel like pain. Instead, I laughed, watching as the blood dripped down my arm.
My grin widened and I pressed the glass to my other wrist this time, savouring the feeling. I dragged it down the length of my forearm and again, laughed. I couldn't stop laughing even if I wanted to.
Here's the next chapter, hope you like
You know what "Normal" is? A setting on a washing machine. No one wants to be that.