A Cut so Deep - Dani Rene Page 0,13

because I was afraid I’d be really hurt.

When I read horror stories of girls who took it too far, who craved it so much they would cut longer, deeper, I focused myself on never going down that road. As much as it helps me clear my mind of worry and fear, I’ve scared myself into the realization that this could be fatal. And that has ensured I’m always careful.

Blood coats my fingers, but the freedom feels like flying. It’s what I imagined an orgasm to feel like. Like tipping over the edge and wings emerging behind you, keeping you up in the air while you soar.

It’s the only way I can describe it.

Leaning my head back on the cabinet doors, I smile up at the ceiling, as I lift my fingers to my lips and taste the metallic flavor. I’m so broken, so fucked up from the way my body craves this, I doubt I’ll ever have a normal life.

I can finally breathe.

The knot in my stomach is gone.

And I can happily stay in my bedroom without the anxiety hitting me again. My mother will never have to know what I’ve just done. Not that she’d care.

I know she flies out of the country in a day or two, so I’ll be alone with my thoughts. I smile as I lean back against the wooden surface and close my eyes. I’m no longer twisted up inside. When I first started doing this, cutting, I went online, read about others who’ve done it. They explained how it felt to them, the suffocation of anxiety lifting the moment they made the incision. Some even mentioned it felt good, as if they were drunk. I don’t know what that’s like, but the relief is real, it’s a force that holds me close like a warm blanket on a cold night.

I push up, standing at the sink and rinsing my leg. I tidy up the mess I made and go into my bedroom. On the nightstand, I find my cell phone and tap out a message to Isaac. He’s been my tutor for three months, and even though we haven’t done anything, his messages, along with the stinging on my inner thigh, have offered me a calm in the storm.

I smile when his response comes back—a photo of him in his boxer briefs, and a message, thinking about those pretty eyes.

I breathe deeply, sliding under the covers and snaking my hands between my thighs. Time to find another release.

6

Nesrin

Present Day

Last night was like a scene out of a family sitcom. Actually, more like a comedy of horrors. I wanted to disappear so many times. But I couldn’t. When I finally slid under the covers last night, I was too tired to think about anything other than dreaming. And then, even in my sleep, blue eyes stared back at me. It was as if Damien was haunting me.

Sliding out of bed, I pad into the bathroom. The sun is just rising, bathing the room in a soft pinkish glow. I pull open the cabinet and find what I’m looking for. My muscles are stiff when I settle on the lid of the toilet. I haven’t turned to this for two long weeks, but after yesterday’s fiasco, I need it.

My heart thuds against my chest at the reminder of what happened. The images of seeing Damien getting a blow job from some random redhead. The thoughts of sitting with him in the car today have my nerves shot to hell.

The first time I did this, I was young. I recall the release so clearly. It was as if it was yesterday. I had accidentally cut myself on a broken glass after hearing my father screaming at my mother, and mom, in turn, decided to smash his whiskey decanter all over his office floor.

My anxiety spiked. At the time, I didn’t know what the feeling was, all I knew was that I needed to scream, but if I did, I’d only draw attention to myself, so instead, I crushed the fragile glass I’d been holding. My fingers had squeezed so hard that it shattered, slicing my hand open. The moment I saw the blood, I felt like I could breathe again. It was as if the world was no longer blurry, it was peaceful. When I was younger, I just knew it eased the ache in my body, it lifted the tension and pain, but now, it’s different.

I pick up the sleek, silver blade. It’s small, thin,