Broken

“ I’d like to say I’m glad you’re not suffering anymore, but damMit if you didn’t leave us with a mess…”

Relief…

That’s what it felt like as blood trickled down the side of Megan’s leg, dripping into the bathtub like droplets of crimson freedom. Taking a deep breath, she slowly traced the razor over her inner thigh, making sure not to cut too deep, but also making sure to savor every painful moment. And as more blood seeped from the wound, she released that trembling breath, and with it, all her anguish, all her fears, all her regrets.

Megan was only fifteen years old at the time, but this was a craft she’d been perfecting since she was twelve. A dirty little secret that only she knew about. A bloody ritual that, for whatever reason, made her feel like she was in control.

Control…

That’s something Megan never really had before. She didn’t have any control on the day the doctors told her dad that he had cancer. She didn’t have any control when she watched him wither away over the years, turning into a husk of who he used to be. She didn’t have any control over the day her mom had a mental breakdown, or the day the bank foreclosed on the house. Hell, she didn’t even have control over what dress she wore to the funeral. No, control was something Megan could only ever dream of having. But at the same time, it was the one thing she wanted more than anything else; even more than her own life.

Another pass of the blade.

Another deep breath.

Another feeling of degenerative release; perverted tranquility.

Cutting…

Of all the things she could have done, it’s hard to say exactly why Megan turned to this. After all, she’d always been afraid of blood growing up. She didn’t even like getting paper cuts. But then again, maybe after watching her dad get jabbed with needles a few hundred times, she just got used to it. Maybe in some sick, twisted way, she began to associate bleeding with enduring; silent suffering for strength and perseverance. Or maybe she just wanted to prove that she could put on a strong face the same way he always did. Who’s to say for sure why she started hurting herself, and in all honesty, who really cares? At the end of the day, she was just a kid, and kids make stupid decisions all the time. Why would she be any different?

Setting the razor blade aside, Megan looked down at the countless marks carved across her   legs; a portrait of painful memories buried just below the scar tissue. Sometimes when she was alone in her room, she’d take the time to count them, tallying them up like unwanted mementos before desperately trying to convince herself that she was finally done with all this. Time after time, she swore to herself that enough was enough. But no matter how deep she tried to bury the pain, it always found a way to crawl back up to the surface – singing into her mind like a starving siren and tightening its grip around her already broken soul. And just like clockwork, every other Monday at five-thirty, she’d eventually succumb to that dreadful desire. While her mom was out seeing a therapist, poor Megan would slink away into the bathroom and have a little therapy session of her own.

Picking up the razor, she held it up to her leg.  Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself for another brief moment of pain, and the ever-fleeting ecstasy that was sure to follow.

RING-RING! RING-RING!

“Shit!” she gasped, whipping around to see what was going on.

It was her phone. She forgot to put it on silent.

Before she even realized what had happened, she felt a sudden rush of pain trace across the inside of her thigh. All at once, blood erupted from her leg like a geyser, shooting nearly six feet into the air before splattering across the wall!

“OH FUCK!” she screamed, dropping the razor and covering the wound with her hand. Pressing down as hard as she could, she tried to stop the bleeding, but it was no use. The blood just kept spewing while the phone just kept ringing.

RING-RING! RING-RING!

In a panic, she reached around to answer it, but when she saw who was calling, she froze stiff.

It was her mom.

She was heading home from therapy.

Scrambling, Megan went to get the first aid kit out of the closet, but just as soon as she stepped out of the tub, she slipped and fell, crashing onto the floor with all the force of a fallen angel. Before she knew it, her senses began to go dull, almost like the entire world was sinking around her. Her vision went blurry. Her body went cold. Her fingers went numb.

RING-RING! RING-RING!

Huddled up on the floor, she used what little strength she had left to answer her phone and hold it up next to her ear. And as Megan’s world slowly turned to black, she heard her mother’s voice.

“Hey, Meg-Head. I just wanted to let you know I’m leaving the therapist’s office a little early today. I know I’ve said it before, but this time really felt like a breakthrough! Like, I’m finally starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, you know? It’s actually kind of funny, because today we were talking about everything, and it just hit me out of nowhere that I never really tell you enough that I’m proud of you. We’ve been through so much over the last three years, but somehow, you’ve managed to stay strong through it all. And I know things have been really hard lately, but you’ve done such a good job at holding yourself together. Honestly, I can’t imagine where I’d be without you, baby girl. Baby girl? Megan? Hello, can you hear me? Gosh dang it… I’m going through another dead spot. Okay, well if you can hear me, just let me know what kind of pizza you want for supper. I was thinking we could have another movie night. Maybe paint our nails or something. Okay, well I’ll see you when I get home. Love you! Byeee!”

-click-

Silence…

That’s what filled the room the day Megan died.

And the void it left behind was deafening.